


You're The Storm That I've Been Needing

by queenofchildren



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Drinking & Talking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Ping Pong, Snowed In, Yes I know it's almost spring I'm very slow okay, hot tubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: When her cousin Juliet suggests spending a few days at a beautiful cottage in the mountains, Rosaline says yes without a second thought - only to almost regret that decision when it turns out Juliet is bringing her boyfriend, and said boyfriend is bringing his family. And suddenly, Rosaline is faced with the prospect of spending several days with Benvolio Montague, the most annoying man on earth... And then it starts to snow.
Relationships: Rosaline Capulet/Benvolio Montague
Comments: 81
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I decided it might be fun to write a snowed-in AU as a Christmas prompt, and then I just never managed to get it finished. I still haven't finished it entirely, but I'm hoping that by starting to post it, I can trick myself into actually finishing the rest.  
> So, if anyone's still in the mood for wintery mountain cabin fluff, this one's for you. For everyone else, I guess I should have just rewritten it as a quarantine fic, I hear those are all the rage now.  
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this, and that it might make someone's quarantine a little less boring. Stay inside if you can, and stay safe.  
> Oh, and the title is from a song by The Cardigans by the same title.

This is the last time, Rosaline tells herself, the absolute last time she's going along with one of Juliet's impulsive ideas.

It sounded appealing, when her little cousin called her between two stressful meetings to ask if she wanted to spend a long weekend with her and her sister Livia at an "adorable little chalet" in the mountains. Rosaline's been yearning for a chance to get away for months, having had to cut short her last two holidays, and this trip is their way of making up for not getting to properly celebrate Christmas together.

Unfortunately, Juliet failed to mention that it wouldn't just be the three of them: Her new boyfriend would be coming too. And he would be bringing along _his_ family - a tidbit of information that Rosaline only discovers when she steps out of the house, ready to go, only to find a flashy jeep waiting for her instead of Juliet's little beetle.

She ignores it at first, finding it difficult to identify the driver through the tinted windows - until the passenger side window slides down and an impatient voice barks out:

"Are you getting in or what? It looks like it'll start snowing soon, and I'd like to get on the road sooner rather than later."

Rosaline leans forward, peering confusedly inside the massive car.

"Montague? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm your ride, apparently."

“ _Why_?“

“Because I'm a nice person. And because the others got started later than expected this morning, and if they took the detour to pick you up, they'd take so long they'd have to drive into the night. You have to agree that that's not a good idea when you're heading into the mountains in the middle of winter.“

“I see. And did they explain why they failed to mention this to me?“

“They did not, and I didn't ask. Now, do you have any other questions, or can we get started?“

Oh, she has some questions, but she'll save those for later when she can pull Juliet aside and tell her what exactly she thinks of that change of plans. She may have gotten used to the fact that her little cousin is dating the youngest offspring of the infamous Montague clan, but she sees no reason why that would mean she'd have to interact with his older cousin as well. Where Romeo balances out his occasional moments of spoiled obliviousness with genuine sweetness and enthusiasm, Benvolio Montague is just obnoxious, constantly acting like everything's a joke to him, and particularly everything Rosaline has to say.

So far, she has managed to reduce their interactions to the bare minimum, but it looks like that's about to end – if she's going to spend the next few hours trapped in a car with him, she'll have to at least talk to him to a certain degree.

But only as much as absolutely necessary, she decides as she drags her heavy bag up onto the backseat of the ridiculously big car. The Montague doesn't offer to help beyond pointing out that the trunk is already full, and Rosaline sure as hell isn't going to ask him to.

“How long exactly do you think we'll be staying?”, she asks when she finally clambers up into the passenger's seat, only to earn a confused stare. “Because I don't think you need an entire trunk's worth of stuff for a long weekend,” she explains.

“Oh. I was charged with bringing the food. Actually, I charged myself, because I don't want to imagine what we'd be trying to survive off if the others did the shopping.”

She'd have to admit that was probably a good call, if she wasn't opposed to agreeing with him on principle.

“I see,” she only says instead, and with her finally buckled in, the Montague starts driving, and Rosaline turns her attention to her phone to start furiously texting Juliet.

_You could have at least given me a warning before you sicced the Montague on me._

Juliet's reply, less than a minute later, is at least suitably apologetic.

_I'm sorry, babe. It was all very last-minute – Romeo still had some stuff to figure out, so Ben offered to pick you up so you can drive ahead._

He _offered_? That's... unexpected.

_He really helped us out, so please be nice to him. We'll be right behind you, and before you know it, we'll all be together. Christmas Baby!_

Despite her irritation, Rosaline can't help but smile; her little cousin's enthusiasm infectious even via text. And she's right: It's only a few more hours before they'll all be together, celebrating their very belated Christmas and forgetting all about all the stress that left her so irritated in the first place. If putting up with the Montague for a few hours is what it takes to get her there, then that's what she'll do.

But that resolution might not be so easy to stick to, she realises the moment she tucks away her phone and the Montague speaks up.

“Done complaining to Juliet?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you telling me you _didn't_ just text her about how unhappy you are with your designated driver?”

“I was just surprised,” she lies, lamely, and Benvolio scoffs.

“Right,” he mumbles, clearly not convinced, and for a moment Rosaline considers a snappy comment about how she's just not sure he'll get her there in one piece. Then she decides against it – she will have to hold out for several more hours. Plenty of time to get into a fight, if she gets bored later.

So she stays silent and Benvolio does the same, reaching out to fiddle with the radio instead. He finally settles on some folksy hipster pop, not her favourite genre but innocuous enough that she'll be able to tune it out. Settling deeper into the – admittedly rather comfortable – seat, she turns her head to look out the window, watching the wintery landscape pass by in a grey-brown blur. They haven't really had a lot of snow so far, which makes her all the more excited for the veritable Winter Wonderland Juliet promised her.

And God, she could really use some winter magic. The last few months have been brutal, with work nearly eating her up, and even now, she can feel her eyes burn with tiredness. She stayed late last night to finish up some things so she'll be able to properly enjoy this trip, with the result hat she's now deadly tired and has a rather annoying strain in her upper back. She rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck, hoping to finally get rid of it, when suddenly the back of her seat starts to move under her.

She shrieks and twists sideways to stare at her seat in confusion, not sure what's going on, and beside her, the Montague laughs.

“Relax, Capulet, it's just the seat's massage function. You looked a little tense, so I switched it on. You can turn it off again if it bothers you.”

He points towards the dashboard, where a seat-shaped symbol is now glowing red – not that she would have noticed it among the vast array of lights and buttons before her. They might as well be sitting in the cockpit of a plane.

“Oh. Thanks.”

She's sure he only did it to show off the super-luxurious feature of his no doubt insanely expensive car, but she refrains from making a quip about it – the massage function is really kicking in now that she's leaning back into the seat, and she's quickly turning into a puddle of contented goo.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Montague grin smugly.

“Nice, isn't it? It's the best thing about this tank.”

“God, yes,” she agrees, the words almost a moan, and then promptly descends into blissed-out silence once more, and for once, the Montague decides not to annoy her.

He's a surprisingly sensible driver, not prone to any of the showy manouevres or unnecessary speed she would have expected of him, and between the smooth ride and the divine seat, she promptly drifts off into much-needed slumber.

The next time she opens her eyes, the landscape outside looks different, and the sky has turned dark grey. It takes her a moment to understand what happened, then she sits upright with a start.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep...” Rosaline doesn't exactly enjoy apologising to _him_ , but falling asleep while he's driving is inarguably a dick move.

“Don't worry about it. I had some podcasts to keep me entertained.”

And he probably wouldn't have found her more entertaining while awake, based on their complete lack of shared interests, Rosaline wagers – but Benvolio seems to think differently.

“Now that you're back among the living though, I wouldn't mind some conversation.”

Rosaline isn't sure what to say to that – they don't usually do _conversation_ , unless stupid jokes and exasperated scoffing can be counted as such.

But Benvolio is undeterred.

"I can tell you a secret, if you promise not to tell."

"Is it the kind of secret that might get me in jail?"

"Funny," he replies drily, and Rosaline smirks – but not for long. "Romeo is going to propose to your cousin. He's bringing the ring and everything."

That news gets her wide awake in a flash.

"What?!"

"Yeah, I thought it was a little soon too, but apparently, he's convinced that she's the one."

" _A little soon_? They've been dating for six months! And half that time they had to keep it a secret from their parents!"

And when their cousin finally did reveal their secret liaison, Rosaline still remembers the explosive fight that followed between Juliet and her parents. It's no secret that there's no love lost between their two families, with Rosaline's aunt and uncle still sneering at the Montagues despite their considerable advantage in wealth – wealth Romeo's father amassed by means the Capulet elders consider gauche at best. To her aunt and uncle, with their WASPy family tree, country club membership and generations of elite school alumni-forefathers, the fact that a lowly car salesman like Damiano Montague – though a hugely successful one – was even allowed into their social circles at all was already an unforgivable affront. To learn that their daughter had decided to date their only son caused her uncle to yell himself hoarse, and her aunt to retreat to her room in mourning for two full days. It would have been funny, honestly, if it hadn't upset Juliet so much.

And now, just as that storm has finally blown over, she learns that Juliet is planning to drop the next bomb? Rosaline is anything but amused about that, with good reason – not that the Montague seems to understand.

"Jeez, Capulet, calm down. You act like you're her mother."

"Well, someone has to," Rosaline grumbles, and Benvolio turns his head to look at her quizzically. "Aunt Giuliana and I have very different ideas of what's good for her daughter," she explains without taking a moment to consider if she really wants him to know this much about her family's inner workings. 

"Whats her idea?"

"Marrying rich. And that's about it. With a good divorce lawyer as a longterm option, I presume."

"Yikes."

She has to hand it to him: Never has anyone more succinctly summed up Rosaline's thoughts on her aunt's opinions.

"Exactly. It's ridiculous, not to mention dangerous - it's the 21st century, women finally have the chance to be independent and she wants her to throw that away to “make a good match”."

“Well, she's not throwing it away by marrying Romeo. He's aware that it's the 21st century, I promise.”

“Oh well, that makes it all better then.” She can't keep the sarcasm from her voice, still too shaken by Benvolio's revelation.

“Look, I said I agree that it's a little fast. But what can you do? They're in love. At least they're happy.”

He sounds a little wistful, but Rosaline doesn't have time to focus on it.

“ _Now_! Who knows how long that will last.”

“What, so they're not even supposed to try because things might not work out?”

“Of course they should try. But they could at least wait until they're a little older, a little more certain that they're really compatible.”

“Yeah, they could. Or they could just go for it.”

“Apparently, they are,” Rosaline huffs, all of her earlier relaxation drained already. Leave it to Romeo to plan something so stupid – and for Juliet to go along, as she no doubt will – only for Rosaline to look like a soulless spoilsport when she points out that maybe they shouldn't rush things like this. And she doesn't want to spoil their happiness, of course not, but she can't help but worry.

Love... doesn't always work out for the best, as Rosaline has learned painfully herself. She just doesn't want her little cousin to get hurt.

But instead of voicing those thoughts and getting mocked by the Montague, she falls silent and turns her head to stare out the window once more, her mood suddenly as stormy as the weather outside. The sky is rapidly turning black with ominous clouds, and it doesn't take long until the first snowflakes are starting to drift past the car's windows.

The sight would please her, normally – Rosaline has always loved watching the world disappear under a smooth, white blanket, all its noise and chaos fading away for a little while. But now, with a good bit of mountain road still ahead of them, she isn't as innocently happy about it – and judging by the frown on the Montague's face, neither is he.

"You think the weather will turn into a problem?"

"It might. Let's hope we make it up the mountain before that."

He sounds grimly determined, but while he picks up the speed a little bit, he continues driving in the same calm, sensible manner as before, which Rosaline finds both reassuring and surprising. She distinctly remembers that one of the famous Montague adventures ended with Benvolio's truck in the school football team's equipment shed, but it seems he either wasn't driving back then, or he got a lot better since.

And that's a good thing, because from the first gentle drift, it doesn't take long for the snowfall to turn into a full-blown blizzard, and Rosaline is glad she isn't the one driving, especially since the Montague's four-by-four is a lot more suited to this terrain than her own beat-up Civic - and, she has to admit, she's more than a little glad for the Montague's iron determination. Somehow, through snow and ice and quickly-settling darkness, he gets them up the mountain - and not a minute too soon: By the time they park in front of the chalet, the ground is covered inches deep in snow, and she can barely see more than a few feet in front of her.

Which is more than a little worrisome, unfortunately: They may have made it, but the others are still far behind, as hinted by Livia the last time she called her to ask where they were.

When she calls them again the moment they're safely inside with the storm shut outside, Livia confirms her fear: The others are still far from their destination.

"We're about two hours from the town,” Livia informs her, determinedly cheerful. “Do you think we can still make it up the mountain?"

Rosaline looks over at the Montague, who's just returned from carrying in the last of the boxes from the car and is now struggling to take off his heavy boots. Faced with the prospect of spending who knows how long alone with him, Rosaline really wants to say yes - but it would be absolutely irresponsible to do so. In this weather, trying to make it up the mountain would just needlessly endanger the others.

"Absolutely not. It's already snowing heavily, we've had trouble seeing the road ahead of us. Do _not_ take that risk. We'll be fine here."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Montague's head snap up from his task.

"Are you sure?"

She tries to hide her displeasure at the day's developments, but of course her shrewd little sister sees right through her composure.

"Of course. Get a room in the nearest town for the night and follow us up tomorrow. Easy as that."

There's a pause, as if Livia wanted to ask something more, then it passes.

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then."

There's a muffled interjection on the other end, apparently uttered by one of the other passengers, then Livia laughs.

"Oh, and Romeo asks me to specify that we want to see you _both_ tomorrow. No killing his cousin."

Rosaline rolls her eyes, not that her sister can see it. But unlike her, her travelling companion seems amused by the joke, she can tell by the twitch of his lips when he comes closer to listen in.

"Don't worry, I'll spare him. He did get me here in one piece."

Now the smile on Benvolio's face fades, replaced by surprise, and it takes her a moment to understand that he is surprised to hear her praise him.

“I'm sorry Ros. I promise, as soon as we get here, you'll get your Christmas.“

“Don't worry about it. It's only one day.“

Moved by her little sister's apology, Rosaline says her goodbye and hangs up. It's not like it was her fault things turned out that way, but it's still sweet that Livia is trying so hard to cheer her up. Things have been a little rough lately, and she really has been looking forward to this trip. She's going to enjoy this with or without the Montague.

Who, incidentally, is still staring at her.

“That was big of you, telling them to stay down in town.“

“It's the most sensible thing to do, in this weather,“

“Still, it means you'll be stuck with me for the night.“

Now Rosaline is starting to get peeved. Did he really assume she'd tell her little sister and cousin to try and make it through this hellish weather just so she wouldn't have to spend more time with him? How selfish does he think she is?

“Well, I've survived your company this far.“

And now that they're no longer stuck in a car together, she figures she can survive a little longer. They have a whole cabin all to themselves, and Juliet did somewhat understate things when she described it as “snug but comfy“ - the cabin boasts four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a game room and a hot tub. Rosaline doesn't know who paid for it and she doesn't want to know, but right now, she's really glad that her aunt and uncle's mansion has equipped Juliet with a rather skewed interpretation of the word “snug“.

So now Rosaline has options for how to avoid the Montague – and she knows exactly where she's going to start.

Ten minutes later, Rosaline sinks into the hot tub with a long, contented sigh, silently thanking the cabin's owner for pre-filling the tub when he got here to hand over the keys. This is exactly what she needed today, and for a few minutes, it's almost enough to make up for the day's vexations.

Unfortunately, the day's vexations seem intent on coming back to vex her some more.

She can hear the door open, then footsteps approaching, and while she's still peering towards the door with one eye, hoping there's a perfectly harmless, non hot-tub-related reason for him to be here, the Montague confirms her worst suspicion: He toes off his flip-flops and makes for the ladder to the tub.

Which is alarming, to say the least.

"What are you doing?"

"I think that's pretty obvious. Getting in the hot tub."

Rosaline doesn't think his calm voice is at all appropriate to the situation. She's wearing her bikini, thankfully – she's not going to get into a tub at a strange place in the buff – but that still doesn't mean she's ready to be in such close proximity to the Montague with such few clothes on.

"But _I'm_ in here."

"It's a six person tub. I'm sure we'll manage."

Being a good person is not a choice you make once, it's a choice you have to make over and over again – that's what her mother used to say to Rosaline when she was little. Clearly, this is a moment for one of those choices.

It takes her a little longer than her mother would be proud of, but eventually, Rosaline makes her choice. He did have a much more stressful trip up here than she did, so she guesses she can't really deny him the innocent pleasure of a soak in the hot tub.

“You'd better stay on your side of the tub though. And no chatter.“

She sinks a little deeper into the water so she can lean her head back against the edge of the tub. Closing her eyes makes it easier to pretend like she's still alone, or at the very least, not alone with _him_.

Unfortunately, the Montague ruins even her moment of imagined peace.

First, there's an undue amount of splashing from the other end of the tub. Then, there's a groan that's just this side of indecent. And then he speaks, despite her clear instructions.

“You know, during that horrible drive I almost regretted letting Romeo talk me into this. Now I remember how he did it – he promised me a long soak in a giant hot tub.“

She could try and ignore it, of course – but her Capulet upbringing won't quite allow her to be so rude. So Rosaline settles for being just a little less rude instead and at least carry on the conversation.

“Just the tub? I would have thought he'd have to throw in some booze and topless women to lure you here.“

Annoyingly, he only laughs.

“Maybe in my wild youth. Now I'm an old man who just wants to take naps.“

Despite herself, Rosaline has to laugh. She never thought she'd have anything in common with the Montague, and now the most basic of human needs prove her wrong.

“Naps have become so much more valuable since we were forced to take them as children.“

Benvolio chuckles.

“If only we had known that back then.“

“Yes, if only.“ Rosaline agrees mildly, too relaxed by now to keep up her antagonism.

Besides, maybe the conversation will peter out now and she'll get her peace and quiet.

“How did they get you to come?“

Maybe not.

“They promised we'd celebrate Christmas together.“

“And you didn't notice that we only came here a month _after_ Christmas?“

Rosaline opens her eyes again, but only to roll them at him.

“Of course I did. But Livia had to work on Christmas, and I didn't exactly enjoy Christmas dinner with my aunt and uncle without her, despite Juliet's efforts. So we decided to postpone Christmas and celebrate it here, just the three of us. Well, and Romeo. I guess Romeo was sort of implied.“

“They didn't tell you about Mercutio and me coming along?“

“They didn't make an effort to hide it – it just didn't occur to me to ask.“

“No wonder you were so pissed to see me earlier.“

“I did feel a little ambushed.“

He falls silent for a moment, looking at her as if he's unsure about asking a question.

“Look, I know we aren't each other's favourite people. But maybe, for this trip, we should call a truce. You know, since it's your Christmas. And we are the only people around, for the moment.“

Rosaline hesitates for a moment. It seems a little silly to do something as official as calling a truce – after all, it's not like their current state started with an official declaration of war. They just sort of... slipped into it.

Then again, he seems to be making an effort to remedy that, at least for the few days they'll be here. It would be more than childish to refuse.

“Okay. Yes, let's try and get along.“

He propels himself forward so suddenly she startles, hand outstretched.

“Let's shake on it.“

It's perhaps not the weirdest thing one could be doing in a hot tub, but it's certainly close. Still, it's him making an effort, and she respects that.

She reaches out to shake his hand, and finds herself suddenly oddly cheerful.

Maybe things won't be so bad after all.

* * *

They make it halfway through the night before Rosaline is proven wrong again.

Because, as it turns out, things can _always_ get worse.

She doesn't realise it right away – at first, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, it's just a little chillier in the room than she expected, most likely because the thermostat is ice cold. Then, when she eventually decides to get up and investigate, she finds that the light won't turn on either. And then she hears the Montague cursing right outside her door.

“Fuck!“

That's when she starts to worry.

“What's going on?“

Luckily, she thought of grabbing her phone to use as a flashlight, because the landing is pitch black as well, and she would have bowled over the Montague on her way to the stairs, frantically flicking the light switch.

“So the light doesn't work here either?“

“So far, it doesn't seem to be working anywhere.“

“Maybe it's just a blown fuse,“ Rosaline suggests, and heads right past him down the stairs to look for the fuse box. There's no need to stand around chatting now – she just wants to get back to bed.

The fuse box is easy enough to locate, as is the central thermostat control – and neither are any help. She tries all the fuses, to no avail, as well as every electric appliance within reach. None of them do so much as blink or beep, and the house stays dark and cold.

“Nothing?“

The Montague appears behind her so abruptly she nearly screams in fright, whirling around to find him completely dressed, coat in hand.

“Nothing. I guess it wasn't a fuse.“

“I'll go outside, see if there's any damage to the power lines.“

Rosaline nods, immensely grateful that he offered to take on the task of heading outside – it's the last thing she feels like doing right now.

Still, she ought to do something to help, and since the heating seems to have been down for some time and she doesn't know how long it will take to get it back up, she decides to try and make a fire.

Her family used to go camping every summer, and she thinks she still remembers how to make a fire. Lighting a fire in the fireplace can't be that different from building a campfire, right?

But it's been years since she helped her father light the little campfire for them to roast their marshmallows on, and with her stiff, cold fingers, it takes quite some time to at least set a little bit of tinder aflame. The small task takes so much concentration that she doesn't even notice Benvolio come back in until he's standing right behind her.

“Good idea, making a fire – I couldn't figure out what's going on. Possibly because it's dark and snowing and I have no idea what I'm doing. I'll have another look at it tomorrow, but until then, we're out of heat and electricity.“

Rosaline nods, too tired and numb to really process the words. The fire is still little more than a tiny flickering flame, and she shivers as she stays crouched before it to slowly keep adding twigs and kindling, noticing that the room got even colder since Benvolio returned.

He must have noticed it too, because suddenly, there's a blanket being draped around her shoulders.

“Take this. It's cold.”

“Thanks.”

Rosaline smiles gratefully and wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“It will take some time until this is big enough, and even then I doubt it will be enough to keep the whole house warm. We should spend the night down here,” she suggests, too tired to even be annoyed at the prospect of spending even more time with the Montague. So far, it hasn't even been as bad as she feared.

“Good idea,” he agrees, the direction of his voice indicating that he's moving away from her. Over her shoulder, she watches him hang up his jacket by the door and head upstairs.

When the creaking stairs indicate his return, the first log has properly caught fire, and Rosaline is optimistic that she'll soon be able to add another one or two to last them through the night. She gets to her feet, knees cracking in protest, to get upstairs and fetch her duvet – only to turn around and find two identical duvets already spread out on the big l-shaped sofa.

“Yours is the one on the left,” Benvolio explains and heads to the other end of the sofa, and she smiles again. It's not a big deal that he fetched her duvet along with his, but it shows a considerateness she would not have expected of him.

“Thanks,” she says again, feeling a little awkward. But then, neither of them seems in the mood for long conversations right now. For now, all they can do is sleep, and hope that the situation has somehow sorted itself out by morning.

She switches off her phone, in case they still don't have electricity tomorrow and she needs to preserve her battery, and slips under the duvet.

“We'll figure it out tomorrow, “ she mumbles.

“I'm sure we will.” And, after a moment of rustling that indicates he's gotten under his covers too, another addition, more quietly: “Goodnight, Capulet.”

“Goodnight,” she replies, hesitating for only a heartbeat before she adds: “Benvolio.”

They did agree on a truce, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted more tropes? You're getting more tropes.  
> Also, Benvolio gets to be almost unrealistically nice and competent this chapter and no, I do not take criticism for that.

The next morning, the world has turned completely white. Outside the windows, normally designed to allow a panoramic view of the chain of mountaintops on the other side of the valley, everything is just... gone.

For a moment, Rosaline wonders confusedly if she's still sleeping, having one of those weird dreams that look like reality but everything's a little off. But when she sits up, taking a second to recall why she's sleeping on a sofa, the illusion holds: Outside, the snow is coming down so thick and heavy that the world has all but disappared.

The same seems to be true for her travelling partner, who she could swear fell asleep on the other end of the sofa. His carefully folded duvet reassures her she remembers correctly, but there's no sight of the Montague, and Rosaline decides to get up and investigate. Or, better yet, get up and get dressed first – she has a feeling this is going to turn into the kind of day she'll be better equipped to handle when she's wearing something sturdier than her pyjamas.

The fire has been restacked, she notes when she walks past the fireplace, so it seems the Montague not only woke up before her but made himself useful too – and just as she adds that little observation to her growing inventory of surprising new information about Benvolio Montague, the door opens and he all but blows in, along with a flurry of snow and an icy gust of wind that makes her shudder even in her thick flannel pyjamas.

He slams the door shut with visible effort, then slumps against it to take off his boots and jacket. His jacket is covered in a layer of snow, and Rosaline steps forward to take it off him and hang it up on one of the hooks by the door, where it can drip on a mat when the snow starts to thaw.

“You went out in _that_ weather?”

“I wanted to see if I can find out anything about what's going on.”

“And did you?”

He shakes his head, catapulting another little flurry of snow from the tips of his hair in every direction.

“It seems I grossly overestimated my ability to deal with electricity-related problems.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We could try and get through to the landlord, ask him if there's anything he can do.”

Rosaline nods, already switching on the phone in her hands. The lockscreen comes to life, and she notices with a start that it's not even eight yet. She had been hoping to sleep a little longer than that, but her mornings usually start a lot earlier, so she guesses it's hard to break that routine.

She frowns down on her phone – the signal bar is all but nonexistent, which shouldn't surprise her in this weather. Still, she hopes fervently, maybe they'll get through anyway.

A thin folder appears in her field of vision, just underneath her phone.

“Here's all the information about the cabin, including the landlord's number. It also had some stuff about the heat, power and various appliances, but I've tried everything and it didn't work.”

Rosaline looks up in surprise. “How long have you been awake?”

“About an hour or so. I woke up just in time to keep the fire from going out.”

Rosaline's astonishment grows: She'd have expected him the one to have a nice, lazy lie-in – and now it turns out he's been up and working to solve their current problem while she was sleeping in.

“Good timing,” she says, already typing the landlord's number in her phone while fervently praying to herself: Please, let the call go through.

It does, sort of, but the connection is terrible, and she can't make out much of what the landlord is saying. But after several shouted requests for him to repeat himself, Rosaline has gathered this much: The power lines leading to the nearest town and fuelling their power have been damaged during the night's storm, cutting off their power entirely, but they should have enough wood and candles to keep the house warm and lit until the power lines have been repaired – which, unfortunately, won't be for another day at least, since the road up from the valley has been cut off by the snow.

Which presents them with the next problem: The others won't make it here for some time. And, more importantly, if the road is blocked, they shouldn't even try.

She has less luck with the connection when it comes to reaching Livia or Juliet, and neither does Benvolio when he tries Romeo and Mercutio, so they both try sending messages instead: The road is blocked. Don't try to make it up the mountain. Wait for news of the cabin's landlord before you make the trip.

It was Benvolio's idea to send them all the same message, and Rosaline who remembers that they should include the landlord's number so the others can reach him (because she doesn't entirely trust Juliet to have that information ready). So they coordinate their messages and hit send, and then there's a long, agonising wait for the others to reply.

Rosaline is usually not bad at keeping her cool under pressure, but now she finds herself getting more and more anxious. What if the others don't get the message? What if they don't know the roads are blocked and try to make it up the mountain to join them? None of them is experienced at driving in these kinds of conditions – what if they have an accident?

“Hey, calm down,” Benvolio interrupts her from spiralling further, and sets down a mug of coffee in front of her. “They'll get the messages. And if not, someone in town will probably warn them not to attempt the trip. People around here know how to handle this kind of weather. So relax, stop staring at your phone, and drink your coffee.”

The mug he sat down before her does indeed include coffee, and it takes Rosaline a moment to realize that that's technically impossible – last she checked, the cabin's expensive coffee maker requires electricity to function.

“How did you make that?”

“The cabin has a gas stove. It doesn't need electricity as long as you have a lighter. Thank God; at least we can still cook.”

“That's lucky.”

“I'm guessing they have incidents like this often enough that it's a smart choice. Oh, but don't drink the last inch or so, I had to just boil it with the coffee grounds.”

“You're very good at improvising,” she mumbles, still trying to catch up with the morning's events. But she's been up for half an hour now, and she has coffee. It's time to face reality. “So, how bad are things?”

“I'd say it depends on how long the weather stays like this. There's a large pile of firewood by the side of the house, so we should be able to keep the heat up for several days. We can cook on the stove and, if necessary, grill things over the fireplace. We can make coffee,” he punctuates the statement with a sip from his own mug, “and we have plenty of food. Honestly, the biggest problem for now might be running water – if the house gets too cold, we might have to turn off the main water supply to keep the pipes from freezing and bursting.”

Now Rosaline is struggling to hide her astonishment – and Benvolio seems to notice, because he smiles and taps the folder with the landlord's information.

“It's all in there. There's even stuff in there about emergency blankets and shovels and stuff.”

“Shovels? As in, in case we have to _shovel_ our way out of the house?”

“I guess. I skipped that part, because it said that it will only get relevant if it snows heavily for about three days straight. And also that's when I really needed some coffee.”

She can certainly sympathise with that, Rosaline concedes, and opens to folder to reach the paragraph in question herself – only to nearly slide right back into her panic spiral when she does.

“You want to know what the shovels are for?” She asks but doesn't really give him time to reply. “The shovels are for freeing the roof of snow in case it gets too heavy and runs the risk of collapsing.”

Benvolio doesn't seem to share her concerns – he only calmly continues to sip his coffee.

“Did you not hear the part about the collapsing roof?”

“I did. But like it says in the folder, that only becomes a risk after at least three days. So I figure we worry about it in two days' time.” He flashes her a grin which, if it's supposed to reassure her, fails spectacularly.

“How can you be so calm about this?”

“What else am I supposed to do? We've done all we can for now. We've alerted the landlord and the others. I've brought in some fresh firewood so we can keep the fire going. Unless you know how to telepathically repair power lines, I'm pretty sure we're out of options.”

Rosaline wants to protest – not because she has anything worthwhile to say but merely on principle – but he's already continuing.

“But I promise, if we run the risk of the roof collapsing, I'll personally climb up there and shovel my ass off to prevent it. Alright?”

She's about to tell him about all the uses she can currently think of for those shovels when the phone next to her on the counter dings – a message from Livia, finally.

_Got your message, we're staying put. How are you holding up?_

The Montague is driving me crazy, is the first thing she wants to write back – but really, that would be unfair, considering he has been really helpful before he decided to go back to being a dick.

 _We're fine,_ she texts back instead, _we've got everything we need up here. Just stay put and don't try anything dangerous._

 _Understood, Captain!,_ Livia's reply comes about two minutes later, indicating a slight delay, followed by another one: _Romeo says if his messages aren't going through to say hi to Benvolio._

 _I will,_ Rosaline texts back, and them remembers that it might be best to preserve her phone's battery in case they need to communicate urgently. _Shutting off my phone again to save battery,_ she adds so the others won't worry, and shuts it off again.

Benvolio, who's been reading along over her shoulder, hits her with that smug grin again:

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

Stay calm, she tells herself: Everything's going to be fine as long as she doesn't murder the Montague.

Choosing to ignore him instead, she gets up to finally get dressed, if switching her pyjamas for sweatpants can be called “getting dressed”.

When she gets back, there are two slices of freshly-toasted bread on a plate on the counter, and the Montague is kneeling before the fireplace, holding two skewers with pieces of bread attached to their ends.

“I think we can add “toasted bread” to the list of things we can cook while we're here,” he proclaims cheerfully. “I've put some on the counter for you, if you're hungry.”

Rosaline takes the plate and fishes a jar of nutella from one of the food boxes, feeling more than a little guilty about being so unkind earlier.

“Thanks. Do you want one with Nutella too?”

When he nods, she quickly spreads the chocolatey treat on both slices of bread and carries the plate over to the fireplace, holding it out to him so he can grab one while she takes the other. If him toasting bread for her was his peace offering, this is her reply, and his smile when he takes a slice seems to confirm he's interpreted it as such.

Now that everything urgent is taken care of for the moment, a quiet settles over the house that is somehow equal parts unnerving and calming. The absence of the rest of their group is a big factor in this, who would no doubt be having rambunctious fun if they were here. But it isn't just that: There's no hum of electricity from the fridge, no television or music warbling in the background, no cars driving by outside, no phones ringing and dinging. There's a silence so absolute Rosaline is pretty sure she's never experienced it in her inner city apartment, not even at night, and if Benvolio wasn't here, it would make her feel almost frighteningly alone and isolated.

Luckily, he is, and Rosaline is even starting to be a little less freaked out by the fact that she's happy about that fact. It's just that being stuck here all alone would be so much worse, she tries to tell herself, but when she reminds herself of their truce she has to admit that it's more than that. He's pretty good in a crisis, as he proved to her this morning, and so far, he's been mostly unobtrusive, leaving her alone with her book while he finishes his breakfast, puts more wood on the fire, and finally settles in with a book of his own at the other end of the sofa.

He does, however, get a little impatient after a while.

"I can't believe it's still snowing. It's been _hours_ ," he whines, some time around midday, letting his book thud to the floor with a dramatic sigh.

Rosaline only hums vaguely, too caught up in her novel as it approaches what promises to be a very exciting final standoff between the heroine and her nemesis.

Benvolio sighs again.

"You could at least talk to me."

"I'm reading."

"Anything good?"

"Very." Maybe if she answers exclusively in one-word sentences, he'll get the hint.

"Better than literally everything else we could be doing right now?"

"Probably," she replies wrily.

"There's a game room somewhere, with billiards and ping pong."

"That's nice."

"Alright, I get it. Your book is more interesting than me. I'll just go exploring on my own."

"M-hmm," she replies absentmindedly, turning a page.

She thinks she hears Benvolio's footsteps retreating, but the novel hurtles on to its conclusion and within moments, she's forgotten that he's even here.

When she finally sets down the book some time later, with happy tears in her eyes and glowing with that good-book-feeling, it still takes her some time to remember that she's not actually alone and that she hasn't seen or heard of Benvolio in a while. Then she does, and begins to feel a little bad. He's been a good sport so far, and she brushed him off like an annoying fly earlier. Maybe she can make up for that now?

She finds him in the cabin's game room, a room towards the back of the house that does indeed boast both a pool and ping-pong table, darts and a cupboard full of board games.

"Looks like we won't die of boredom after all," she comments, and he whirls around, one dart arrow still raised in mid-air.

"Careful with that," she cautions, and he lowers his weapon, looking sheepish.

From the looks of it, he's not bad at the game - the board is littered with arrows, most of them buried in the central ring and one even stuck in the bull's eye. She'll have a better chance at beating him at something else, she decides, and continues to look around the room. But first, there's something else she needs to do.

"I'm sorry, about ignoring you earlier. My book was just getting really good."

"Don't worry about it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about pestering you." He grins. "I was just starting to get a little afraid we'd get cabin fever, go crazy and murder each other or something."

Rosaline doesn't know what to say to that, and Benvolio seems to misinterpret her silence.

"That was a joke about horror movies, not about murdering women, by the way."

Now she has to grin after all - he sounds so nervous, so afraid that he may have offended her when really, she's just still trying to get used to all this sudden civility. She doesn't really know how to interact with him when they're not sniping at each other.

Teasing seems like a safe bet, however.

"Afraid you'll lose woke points?", she asks, and Benvolio looks even more alarmed.

"What? Is that what you think I'm doing, trying to look _woke_?"

She snorts in amusement.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's good that you're trying to be woke. Never hurt anyone to think about what they're saying for a moment."

Shooting him a quick, reassuring smile, she walks further into the room, her decision made about what she wants to do first.

"So, fancy a game of ping-pong?"

"Hell yeah! Playing darts against myself is starting to get boring. Even if I was winning."

Rosaline has to laugh, and Benvolio's face lights up as well. He almost looks proud, and she finds it oddly endearing.

But enough of that, she tells herself as she takes a ping-pong paddle and positions herself at one end of the table - she's going to play to win, which means she can't let herself get distracted.

She's quickly built up a solid lead, and it barely takes her breaking out a sweat to beat him soundly. Not to be deterred, Benvolio immediately asks for a rematch, and another one afterwards when he loses that one too. He loses most of the games, actually, because it may have been some time since Rosaline spent entire nights working off exam stress at her dorm's basement ping-pong table, but muscle memory is still working in her favour.

By the time Benvolio sets down his paddle and raises his hands in surrender, Rosaline has lost count of her winnings.

"Damn, Capulet, you're a beast!" He clocks his head to the side, studying her. "I don't know whether to be impressed or scared."

"You could always be both," she suggests, feeling oddly proud of herself. She's won one of the biggest cases of her career just last month, but somehow, winning this absolutely insignificant little match makes her feel almost as good.

"Seriously though, what are you hiding? Are you secretly an Olympic Ping-pong champion?"

She has to laugh again, still breathless from her triumph.

"I'm just very competitive." And she let herself get swept up in it too, she realises now as the rush of winning slowly subsides and the word triggers memories that dim her laughter. "It's not one of my best traits, apparently."

Benvolio shrugs.

"That's a matter of perspective, isn't it? I mean, if we'd been playing on the same team, I would have been really happy about it. And I'm pretty sure anyone who hires you to do your lawyering is feeling the same way."

Rosaline has to grin - he's certainly right to draw a connection between her competitive nature and her profession.

"I am pretty good at lawyering, yeah."

"I don't doubt it." He lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe some sweat off his forehead, and though she looks away quickly, Rosaline catches an intriguing glimpse at a set of nicely-defined abs.

“You up for another round?”, she asks, but he shakes his head.

“I need a break. And my ego needs a moment to recover from the way I just got my ass handed to me.” She braces herself for resentment, for some kind of lame joke to make sure her winning streak doesn't go to her head, the way she's used to from her male colleagues whenever she wins a case. But Benvolio only smiles good-naturedly, holding out his hand to take her paddle and store it away along with his. “Also, I'm kind of hungry – how about we raid the food stash?”

Now that she thinks about it, Rosaline realises she's feeling starved as well. She's been munching on nutella toast while she read, but it's the middle of the afternoon now, and her stomach is starting to complain.

Luckily, the food stash yields more than satisfactory results. They decide to save the fondue cheese until the others are here, mostly because they're too hungry for something that should be enjoyed slowly. Instead, Benvolio throws together a quick pasta dish, and all Rosaline has to do is set the table.

Outside, the world is still white, rapidly turning to grey as the light fades, and Rosaline quickly lights some candles around the room and puts fresh wood on the fire, which has nearly burned down by now. Looking around, she can't help but notice how romantic the entire setting looks, softly lit and cozy, and an admittedly mean-spirited part of her thinks that it's a bit of a waste to be here with Benvolio Montague, of all people. But then, it's not like there's anyone in her life who would take her on romantic getaways, so that kind of thinking is beyond pointless anyway. Instead, she'll focus on the fact that being stuck here with him isn't nearly as bad as she feared it would be. She had fun playing ping-pong with him, and judging by the mouthwatering scent wafting over from the open kitchen, she'll get a nice dinner out of it as well.

Looking over to the kitchen, Rosaline watches Benvolio putter about and wonders if maybe she was wrong about him, before. Sure, he might just be making an effort to be civilised and keep the peace while they're locked in here, but he might also be different than she thought he was, and she finds herself almost compelled to find out which it is.

Of course, she has plenty of time to do so now – they can't exactly spend the evening watching tv, so she guesses conversation is in order.

She starts as soon as they've sat down in front of their plates, piled with a generous helping of pasta and topped with freshly-grated parmigiano.

“I didn't know you could cook,” she starts and then, realising this sounds a lot less polite than she intended it to, adds: “This looks delicious.”

It tastes delicious too, she finds out a moment later, and Benvolio beams at the praise in a way she finds oddly endearing.

“Once it occurred to me that cooking at home is much cheaper than surviving entirely on takeout, I taught myself some basics after college.”

“It took you until _after_ college to figure out that ordering out is expensive?”

“I'm not the fastest learner, I'm afraid. But my uncle pretty much cutting me off was quite the motivating factor.” He sounds grim suddenly, and Rosaline decides that it might not be the best idea to pursue this line of conversation. She knows she wouldn't be too happy if a near-stranger decided to interrogate her about her own strained relationship with the people passing as parental substitutes in her family.

“So what's your signature dish?”

“This one, I guess,” he looks a little embarrassed to admit. “And I also make a mean lemon meringue.”

“You bake, too?”

She's definitely not imagining it: Benvolio is blushing.

“Everyone needs a hobby, right? This one just comes in handy when it's someone's birthday.”

“Oh, I bet it does. I think it's a great hobby – I wish I had the discipline to do something so productive in my free time. But all I want to do when I get back home is read or watch tv.”

“There's nothing wrong with that. I enjoy a good book too – I just often find that I can't quite focus on anything in the evenings and only end up watching tv instead.”

“Tell me about it!”, Rosaline agrees. “The amount of nights I get home and settle in with a book only to find myself reading the same paragraph over and over without processing a single word... It's scary. I mean, when did we lose our ability to simply enjoy things?”

Benvolio shrugs. “I guess it's another one of those annoying side-effects of growing up. I know I could spend hours reading as a kid, or drawing, or playing make-believe games with Romeo...”

“What were you playing?”

“Knights, mostly. Romeo had a pair of plastic swords and we'd crafted our own suit of armour out of cardboard. I was the terrifying Red Knight, and Romeo the Knight of Roses.” He shakes his head with a fond laugh. “God, I almost forgot about that! Romeo always wanted to rescue some kidnapped Princess from dragons and bandits and whatnot, while I just wanted to work on my fencing technique.”

Rosaline has to laugh at that image too.

“Of course Romeo was a romantic even back then.”

“Absolutely. I think the poor Princesses were subjected to his love poems too, once they'd finally escaped the clutches of their captors. Luckily, most of the time the Princess was Romeo's hamster.”

Now Rosaline is laughing so hard she feels tears forming in the corner of her eye, and Benvolio keeps piling on details about his and Romeo's childhood adventures that only make her laugh harder.

From that one anecdote, he easily slips into another, which Rosaline follows with a few stories about Juliet's antics that crack Benvolio up as well.

“Please, keep 'em coming,” he encourages when she pauses to recall more stories. “This is excellent ammunition for my Best Man speech.”

“Hey, if anything, those stories will go into _my_ speech. You stick to embarrassing your own cousin!”

“I'm sure we can share,” he suggests, eyes twinkling warmly, and for a moment Rosaline thinks she sees something else in his bright eyes, the curl of his lips; some invitation that has nothing to do with their cousins' hypothetical wedding... Then she shakes off the illusion.

“If it even gets to that,” she cautions, and Benvolio frowns.

“The wedding?”

“My aunt and uncle won't be too happy about it.”

“You think they'll want to stop it?”

“They'll certainly try. But I don't think they'll have any success. Once Juliet has decided she wants something, she gets it. And she has definitely decided that she wants to be with your cousin.”

“You'd better start working on your speech then.” He flashes her a sharp grin. “But don't fool yourself into thinking yours will be anywhere near as good as mine.”

“Really, Montague, a challenge? Remember what happened the last time you went up against me?”

He laughs good-naturedly.

“I remember. Although it would have been kinder to let me forget.”

“Maybe I'm just not particularly kind.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He looks at her inquiringly as he says it, his gaze so searching she has to fight the urge to duck away from it, and she hastens to get the conversation back on track.

“So, what do you think they'll come up with for the wedding?”

“Something big and over the top, I'm sure. That, or they'll go to Vegas to elope.”

Rosaline has to laugh – he definitely hit the nail on the head with that one.

“Or they'll do one of those beach weddings that only look good in the photos while everyone is annoyed because there's sand everywhere.”

Benvolio groans, and Rosaline grins and continues making up scnearios, drawing on memories of all the terrible weddings she's been to in recent years to torture him further, until Benvolio lifts his hands in surrender.

“Stop, stop! I feel like I've been to every one of those horrible weddings. How is everyone around us getting married, but no one has any style?”

Rosaline shrugs, while Benvolio gets to his feet and walks over to the kitchen, taking their now-empty plates with him. He returns with two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other, filled with amber-coloured liquid and adorned with an elegantly-styled label that suggests the liquid wasn't cheap.

“I can't take any more of this wedding talk without having something to drink, and this is the only thing we have.”

“What is it?” She peers over trying to make out the label while he pours a generous dram in each glass.

“Scotch. A 12-year-old single malt, to be precise.”

She raises her eyebrows questioningly.

“Sounds fancy.”

“It's a belated Christmas gift for Mercutio.” He smiles apologetically. “The others are bringing all our alcohol supplies, so for now, it's this or nothing. I'm sure he'll understand.”

She nods, reaching out to take one of the glasses.

“I'm sure he will.” She swishes the amber-couloured liquid around her glass, studying it for a moment. “So, what are we toasting to? I don't really feel like drinking to other people's tacky weddings.”

Benvolio nods emphatically, then takes a moment to ponder the question. “How about... to going offline for a while?”

Rosaline snorts.

“Good one.” She raises her glass. “To going offline.”

The whiskey burns a little when she takes her first sip, but it's a lot less unpleasant and a lot smoother than any whiskey she's tried before.

“This is _good_.”

“I hope so, it wasn't cheap.” Benvolio takes another sip and smacks his lips in appreciation before he looks at her, looking for a moment as if he's considering something.

“So, now that I've hopefully softened you up with food and alcohol, I'm just going to ask: Why do you hate me so much?“

Rosaline laughs, hoping for a moment she can play it off as a joke – but Benvolio is still looking at her, his expression unmoving, and she quickly takes another sip of her whiskey, to buy some time or to stready herself from a sudden spike of nervousness or both.

"I don't think you could call it _hate_ , exactly."

"Well, you sure as hell weren't exactly friendly up until now."

"I was today,” she points out, and finds that she's relieved when he concedes her point with a nod. Maybe this conversation won't turn out so bad, if she allows herself to be honest. “I don't know, I guess I just thought you're... just another rich guy who thinks he owns the world just because he has a trust fund."

"Rich guy? I'm an _art teacher_. At a public middle school!"

"Well, yeah. But you're an art teacher with a flashy jeep. I'm guessing there's a trust fund to go with that, if you ever get sick of teaching."

"There isn't. And the car isn't even mine, it's my uncle's. He's always trying to get me to lease one of his flashy cars, to properly represent the family, and for once I figured it might be a good idea, and a lot safer than my old shoebox. And besides, you were happy enough to sit in it when it was the only thing that got us up this mountain."

"Alright, alright. I guess I... did misjudge you, a little bit."

" _A bit_? You never bothered to find out anything about me."

"Okay, okay." She lifts her hands in surrender. “In my defense, I was just being cautious. You Montagues have a reputation in town. You can't expect that I was thrilled to hear my little cousin was dating one."

"Last I checked, it's not me she's dating though."

"Well, no, but Romeo is such a sweetheart, and you're the oldest... I just figured all those wild adventures were instigated by you."

It sounds horrible when she says it out loud, but the Montague actually laughs in response.

"So you let Romeo charm you into thinking _I_ was the worst of the bunch? That's hilarious!"

Rosaline isn't sure she agrees, but he's already continuing.

"You want to know the truth, Capulet? _I'm_ the sensible one. I was the one constantly trying to hold him and Mercutio back from getting in trouble. Or getting them out of trouble, or cleaning up after them. I mean, I did contribute my share of stupid ideas, but mostly, I was just along for damage control."

Then, suddenly, the mirth drops from his voice.

"Doesn't mean I don't regret some of the things we did. I mean, it was all intended as harmless fun, but some of the stuff we did could have gone seriously wrong, even hurt people. So I guess I can kind of see where you're coming from there."

He takes a swig of his Scotch, contemplatively staring into the fire, and Rosaline keeps feeling worse – it seems like, for someone so passionate about justice, she was really unfair to him.

"I guess I did misjudge you a little bit."

"At least you're big enough to admit it. I didn't think you would." He shrugs disarmingly. "Guess I was a little bit prejudiced myself."

For a second, that statement really makes her want to ask what exactly he thought of her, so far.

But then, maybe it's better to leave that behind them.

"We can always start over now," she suggests instead, and is met with a pensive smile. “We've got our truce, right?“

"Right. And hey, we could start right away, use this time to get to know each other better.” He takes another sip of his whiskey, then leans back again. "So, how about a good old-fashioned round or two of "never have I ever"?"

“A drinking game?” Rosaline hesitates.

“Why not? You got any other plans today?”

Rosaline shakes her head, and he nods smugly.

“Exactly. We're not getting out of here anytime soon, we might as well get drunk. I'll let you start though, so you can set the pace.”

The offer puts her in a bit of a tough spot, because there's plenty of things she'd like to find out more about but she doesn't dare ask them, not before they've had a good bit more of that Scotch. Instead, she scrambles for something safe to ask, and settles for a work-related, fluffy question.

"Never have I ever... lied to a student and praised his art when I actually thought it was terrible."

"Well, if that question isn't designed to get me drunk," Benvolio laughs, lifting his glass for a hearty sip.

"Really? You lie to your students?"

"I try not to be obvious about it, but sometimes, it takes a little bit of creative embellishment to get a student excited about his art again. And hey, it's middle school - I'm not trying to get these kids exhibited in a gallery. I just want them to be excited about art, try some things out. The way to do that is by being encouraging, not critical."

That makes a lot of sense, and he sounds so passionate when he explains it that Rosaline can't help but think that he's probably a good teacher. At this point, she wouldn't even be surprised: From offering a truce to taking charge of the situation to knowing how to cook, he's just been full of surprises. Being good with kids would definitely fit that new and improved impression she's got of him – and, eerily, mean that he's ticking quite a few boxes on her list of ideal traits in a man.

But that's a thought she's definitely too sober for.

“Your turn,” she says and grips her glass tighter.

“Never have I ever hidden text books in my university's library so other students can't use them to study.”

“What? Why would I do that?” Rosaline is appalled, but Benvolio only shrugs.

“I heard that's a thing law students do.”

“Well, it's not a thing _I_ did.” She really hopes her indignation at even being asked such a question comes through, but Benvolio only irritates her further by chuckling.

“You know, anyone else, I would call bullshit. But I truly believe you'd be too honest to do that.”

Rosaline glares at him mistrustfully. Is he going to make her regret agreeing to this game by using it to insult her? But he only laughs again, lifts his hands disarmingly.

“That's a compliment, Capulet. I'm not trying to trick you.”

She's not entirely sure of that, but she decides to drop it for now. Besides, she knows exactly how to get him back.

Her next three questions are carefully designed to make sure he's the one who has to drink, while Benvolio's are more diverse. But if Benvolio notices, he doesn't let on, only grins and drinks every time, and eventually, Rosaline decides to stop her crusade before she can give him alcohol poisoning.

Benvolio's questions remain careful and fluffy for a while, but he still lands enough hits that soon she has a bit of a buzz going, and that's when he really goes for the kill – at least, that's what it feels like.

“Never have I ever... wanted to switch places with someone else.”

“Wow, you're really going for the deep questions now, hm?” She swirls the liquid in her glass, enjoying the way it reflects the light of the fire. “But I guess I'd have to drink to that.”

She lifts her glass as if to toast, then throws back what little is left in it.

“Who would it be then?”

She doesn't know why she decides to put this much trust in a person she hasn't really been on speaking terms with just a day ago – perhaps because up here, time and everything else outside of this room seems to have stopped existing entirely. But for some reason, Rosaline answers the question with complete honesty.

“Sometimes I'd like to switch places with Juliet. I know her life isn't all sunshine and roses – for one thing, I wouldn't want to be still living with my aunt and uncle – but other things...” She pauses, trying to sort into coherent sentences thoughts she's barely allowed herself to think, let alone say out loud. “I just wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to have everyone looking out for me, making sure I don't get hurt, and to get everything I want just by batting my lashes and asking nicely.”

Rosaline sits up straighter, horrified at the words now that she's heard them out loud.

“Shit, that came out sounding terrible... I didn't mean – I don't mean to say that Juliet...”

“I get it,” Benvolio says, quiet but with certainty, but by now, Rosaline is too upset with herself to let it reassure her.

“Oh, really.”

The words are sharp, punctuated by an incredulous laugh, but Benvolio remains unshaken.

“Yes. You love her, just like you love her sister, and you want her to be happy and you want things to be easy for her because you know what it's like when things aren't easy. But sometimes you just wish you didn't know either. That there had been someone who'd been watching out for you the way you're looking out for her.”

He takes a breath, pauses and looks over for a moment as if waiting for her to say something – but Rosaline is currently too stunned to come up with anything.

“You don't allow yourself to think like this often, because it makes you feel guilty to even consider it, but you still sometimes wonder why it's always you that has to be sensible while the others get to have fun, consequence-free.”

It takes her another few moments before she can speak again, swallowing down a scratch in the back of her throat first.

“I take it things aren't always sunshine and roses at the Montague home either.”

He laughs humorlessly, an eerie sound that she wishes she'll never have to hear again.

“You can say that.”

He takes another sip of his Scotch, and she wonders if he realised that he has to drink if he feels like the question applies to him, or if he just needed a drink. Then he grins, or rather, bares his teeth.

“But hey, we're all grown-ups now – we can handle it, right?”

“Right,” she says, wishing she believed it a little more. Whatever “it” is, she isn't sure Benvolio is handling it as well as he claims to. She's about to ask if he wants to tell her more about it when Benvolio speaks up.

“I'm sorry, that was a shit question. I didn't mean to hurt you by bringing up any stupid family stuff.”

She's reached out and laid her hand over his before she's even done considering it, overwhelmed with the urge to return some of the comfort he's trying to give her.

“Don't worry about it. I'm a grown-up, remember? I can handle it.”

She asks something fluffy next that they both have to drink at, Benvolio does the same, and the momentary darkness lifts again, replaced by tipsy laughter and, slowly, an increase in risqué questions, instigated by Benvolio of course.

"Never have I ever... had a one-night stand."

"Oh, really - that's how you want to play this?"

"Just confirming some suspicions," Benvolio replies cheerfully, slamming back the leftover dram in his glass and then immediately leaning forward to refill it - and freezing in his movements when Rosaline picks up her glass to take a sip as well, her motions exaggeratedly dainty and ladylike.

"Ms Capulet!", he exclaims, mimicking a pearl-clutching motion. "Why, I never!"

Finally, Rosaline gets to grin smugly as well.

"Maybe I'm not quite as predictable as you thought."

"Clearly. So what are we talking about here: A single moment of weakness, regular debauchery...?"

"It's my turn to ask a question," Rosaline points out, refusing to give in to his probing. "And now that you've set the precedent, I think I'll take the opportunity to dig into your love life a little." She smirks. "Questions like that can easily be turned around, you know."

She's still holding on to her glass, swishing around its liquid contents with circular movements of her wrist, and waiting for one more dramatic beat before she asks:

"Never have I ever.... been in a serious relationship."

"Wow, you _really_ don't think well of me."

But while Rosaline was sure she knew the outcome of this question just a moment ago, Benvolio shatters that belief by reaching for his glass with a supremely smug expression.

"I have to disappoint you there, Capulet." He takes a sip. "It may not have lasted long, or ended in happily-ever-after with a white picket fence, but even I have been serious about someone before. At least, it felt pretty serious at the time. The famous three little words were being said and everything."

"By whom?" She blurts it out without thinking, and Benvolio is taken aback for a moment.

"Sorry?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, she decides, and repeats the question despite feeling silly for being so nosy.

"Who said the three little words?"

"Me." Benvolio says it without hesitation or pause, deliberately holding her eyes as if daring her to make fun of him, when nothing could be further from her mind right now.

"Did you mean them?"

"Yes, I did. Very much." He laughs, and she thinks she hears a note of bitterness. "Sadly, the feeling wasn't mutual."

"I'm sorry. That sucks."

“It was years ago.”

He shrugs, as if it was no big deal, but the way he stares into the fire for a few more seconds suggests that maybe it was. Then he seems to shake himself out of his thoughts and gets to his feet, clapping his hands resolutely.

"Alright, enough moping. Let's dance!"

"Dance? Where are we getting the music from, with no electricity?"

"From my phone."

"Shouldn't we save the battery for more important things?"

But Benvolio ignores her interjection and switches on his phone, and soon, the room is filled with slightly muffled music. He steps closer and holds out his hand, looking rather anachronistically like a gentleman asking a lady to dance at some kind of ball.

"You worry too much, Capulet."

It's probably the alcohol, but Rosaline finds that she agrees – she does worry, a lot, and maybe for a little bit of time, she should just try and not think so much.

So she lets him pull her to her feet, and when he turns up the music, she follows him to the area before the large window that's free of furniture. The music he has chosen is clearly from some kind of party playlist, because it's full of energetic, upbeat dance hits and iconic bops, and soon Rosaline finds herself swaying and jumping and singing along, and Benvolio is doing the same and smiling brightly, and she thinks she made the right call: Sometimes it's okay to stop worrying and just have fun.

After a few particularly energetic dances, the playlist slowly switches to smoother, slower numbers, and by this time, Rosaline is so grooved in that adjusting her movements comes naturally, as does moving closer to Benvolio and putting her arms around the back of his neck, and suddenly, they're slow dancing like teens at a prom, and Rosaline has to giggle.

“What's so funny?”

Benvolio's voice is softer than she remembers, but maybe that's just because he's so much closer now.

"I was just thinking, if I didn't know better I would think you were trying to seduce me."

She has to laugh again, the mere thought hilariously absurd to her, but to her surprise, Benvolio doesn't join in.

"How do you know that isn't what I'm doing?"

Rosaline snorts.

"Well, I don't think it's very likely, considering we still assumed we hated each other when we got here."

"That was yesterday though."

That makes her stop swaying in place. Benvolio is looking serious suddenly, and Rosaline is starting to wonder if he actually isn't joking at all.

Then, to her utter confusion, he lets go of her to pick up his glass from the table, looks her straight in the eye, and says:

"Never have I ever thought about kissing someone in this room."

And then he downs the rest of his Scotch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I've now written so much Rosvolio that certain characterisations pop up again and again, and I hope it's not getting boring - but this is the version of these characters I love most, so this is what I'm writing.  
> Also, I think this may be the best chapter cliffhanger ending I've ever written.  
> And finally, out of curiosity: Do Americans eat Nutella toast? And do they call it Nutella, or would they go with "chocolate spread" or a different brand or something?


	3. Chapter 3

_Benvolio picks up his glass from the table, looks her straight in the eye, and says:_

_"Never have I ever thought about kissing someone in this room."_

_And then he downs the rest of his Scotch._

Rosaline freezes in place. Is he trying to say... does this mean...

Her brain isn't nearly done figuring it out when something else inside her decides what to do with this information. And that something else knows exactly what she should do: Kiss him.

It doesn't last long - a little longer than a peck, but not nearly long enough to properly process his little intake of breath, the twitch of his fingers near her waist.

Then she pulls back, still unreasonably convinced that this was a good idea, and Benvolio... only stares at her, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. And he continues to do so just long enough for it to dawn on her...

"I completely misread this situation, didn't I? God, I'm so sorry, I...-"

"You didn't misread anything," he interrupts – and then promptly sets about proving it.

The next time he pulls back, she's feeling more than a little dizzy, and the way Benvolio is looking at her suggests he's dealing with much the same problem.

“We should have done this a long time ago.”

Rosaline isn't sure she agrees – but for once, she has no intention to protest.

She pulls him close again, because just now, he made the most intriguing little noise when she traced his lips with the tip of her tongue, and it suddenly feels imperative to hear that sound again.

A very tiny part of her brain wonders if she should really be doing this without applying her usual rules for decision-making: Is it necessary? Will it enrich her life somehow? Does it pose any risks, physical, emotional, or otherwise? She doesn't know the answer to any of those questions, and she's certainly not going to try and answer them now. What she knows is this: He's cute, which she has been begrudgingly aware of since they first met. He's nice – or perhaps the more accurate word would be kind – as she's been learning since they embarked upon this trip. And right now, he seems to be very, _very_ into her, as evidenced by the way he pulls her closer, following her every move.

And, judging by the noise _she_ makes when his lips travel from her mouth to her jaw, to the point where her pulse is beating hard and fast under the sensitive skin, she's very, very into him as well. At least she is in this moment, in this disconnected, out-of-time place, and maybe that's enough.

Maybe she doesn't need a plan for the next day, week, month, year. Maybe the next moment, however long it lasts, could hold all she needs right now.

She doesn't know how much time passes before he draws back again, breathing hard, to rasp:

“God, Capulet, you're incredible.”

Her psychologist friend Isabella would probably diagnose her with a so far hidden narcissistic streak if she told her about it, but this sentence erases the last of her caution. There's just something in the reverence in Benvolio's voice when he says it, the awe on his face, that turns her from surprised and intrigued to "ragingly turned on" in a heartbeat. She can't recall the last time someone looked at her like that, or perhaps no one ever did because she's sure she'd remember the way it makes her feel, the sense of power it sends surging through her.

She pushes him back onto the sofa behind him and straddles his lap, and the reverence on his face turns to pure hunger she's sure is mirrored on her own face.

Things turn to a blur after that, lips and hands and skin and a rhythm to their movements that doesn't require the least bit of debate for them to agree upon. She takes off her sweater at some point and he takes command of the newly revealed skin like an explorer discovering new territory – but, she notices dimly, he never pushes, never tries to cross new boundaries before she's signalled that she's ready for it.

It's her who takes off her tank top next, her who starts to claw at his henley until he takes it off, her who takes the rhythm of their lips and applies it to their hips as well, rocking against him when that hunger grows and settles deeper inside her.

And, to her complete shock, it's him who stops her with his hand on her hips just as she reaches up to undo her bra as well.

"We should probably stop."

"What? _Why_?"

He laughs softly, and she'd be embarrassed at how needy she sounds if she wasn't so distracted by the way the sound rumbles through him, and by extension, through her.

"Because we're both very drunk. And this morning, you barely even liked me." He pauses, and she's about to protest some more – perhaps point out that you don't exactly have to _like_ someone to do what they were about to do – when he goes on: "I just don't want you to regret anything tomorrow."

"I won't," she says, but it comes out too fast and he still looks skeptical. "I won't regret it," she repeats, firmer this time, and leans forward to press one more kiss to his lips. It's soft, to make sure he knows she won't pressure him, and she feels him relax under the hand she's propped on his chest.

"We'll see about that tomorrow."

"Oh, we will."

Still, she gets up, stumbling a little – whether it's because of the alcohol or because her legs feel strangely wobbly, she isn't entirely sure – only to notice that the fireplace has gone almost dark, nothing but a pile of glowing embers left of their cozy fire.

“We let the fire go out.” The observation should probably annoy her a lot more, but somehow, she feels too.... floaty to really grasp the situation.

Benvolio too seems entirely unbothered: He casts one quick look at the fireplace and then grins broadly, to her confusion.

“We'll just have to cuddle up for warmth then,” he announces, and Rosaline actually giggles at his cat-that-ate-the-canary-expression.

“You're just full of good ideas, aren't you?”, she teases, and Benvolio nods self-importantly.

“I'm a problem-solver.”

He gets to his feet, swaying a little as well, which brings him suddenly so close that Rosaline is tempted to lean in and steal another kiss. But then he just grabs his shirt, putting it on as he sidesteps her, and walks to the stairs, apparently determined to be disciplined and follow through on his own words.

“We should probably go to sleep. I'll get the blankets.”

Just like that, she's standing alone before the fireplace, the site of the night's unexpected debauchery. Their glasses are still on the table by the half-empty bottle of Scotch, and she picks them up and carries them to the sink, absentmindedly starting to rinse them just so she has something to do other than mentally replay the last... hour? Half hour? She doesn't even know how much time they spent making out like drunk freshmen – but probably not enough to justify her going absolutely _feral_ on a man who was little more than an acquaintance just a day ago, and a detested one at that.

Oddly, and with spectacularly bad timing, it's her aunt's face that pops into her mind at the realisation; Giuliana Capulet's disapproving expression accompanying her voice as she lectures her on the value of being ladylike and in control. It's safe to say that Rosaline was neither just now, but perhaps the fact that her aunt would disapprove means that she did _something_ right. Still, the way she just behaved isn't like her at all, and even with alcohol as an excuse she feels a sudden urge to tell Benvolio so, to make sure he doesn't get the wrong impression.

She doesn't have time to wonder why she suddenly cares so much about Benvolio Montague's opinion of her when she hears him come down the stairs again.

Time to face the music, she tells herself resolutely, and then does no such thing. Instead, she remains standing by the sink, scrubbing two perfectly clean glasses while she listens to the rustle of the duvets as Benvolio spreads them out on the sofa.

It's him who breaks the silence, just as she's finished rinsing the second glass and nearly finished gathering her courage.

"Come on, Capulet. We should sleep."

His voice is soft, a little uncertain despite the pragmatic words, and it is this that gives her strength to finally turn around and walk back over there.

Benvolio has laid their duvets out side by side on the wider side of the sofa, apparently determined to go through with his plan to cuddle while the fire burns down – although, she can't help but notice he's put one more log on nonetheless. It's another little sign of his two most surprising traits, common sense and considerateness, and she finds it intensely endearing.

With all thoughts of wrong impressions and ladylike behavior banished to the back of her mind for now, Rosaline slips under the duvet next to him, and despite the fact that she just spent a respectable stretch of time passionately making out with him, Rosaline's stomach still lurches excitedly when Benvolio's hand curves around her waist to pull her against him.

She curls into the shelter of his body, which is nice, but it doesn't feel like enough to just have him sleeping next to her. Just feeling his hand on her waist makes her want to feel it all over her once more, with that sense of greedy abandon she just chastised herself for. But now, perhaps because of the alcohol or because the rest of the world is still so far away, she doesn't care.

“Are you sure you want to go to sleep now?”, she asks, in what sounds reasonably seductive to her own biased ears.

“I'm sure I don't want you to hate me again tomorrow morning.”

It's the same argument he's made earlier, that he doesn't want her to do anything she might regret, but there's something different about it now, about the phrasing as well as the vulnerability she hears in his voice. She herself has decided hours ago that she doesn't want them to go back to the way things were before, and the fact that he thinks they could unsettles her.

“I won't.” To emphasize the words, a repeat of her earlier promise, she lays her hand over his and squeezes it gently, and her stomach responds with another little lurch when he squeezes back and doesn't let go.

Now that continuing where they left off earlier is off the table for good, Rosaline is starting to feel a little drowsy. Maybe sleep really isn't the worst idea.

“We'll talk about it tomorrow,” Benvolio murmurs into the side of her neck. The ghost of his lips across her skin makes her shiver with delight, makes the hunger flicker to life for one more heartbeat – but sleep claims her before it can flare up again.

* * *

Unfortunately, they don't get a chance to return to the subject the next morning: The next time Rosaline opens her eyes, it is to the sound of murmurs and snickers, and the sight of her grinning cousin and sister.

"Looks like you've found a way to support each other throught this difficult time," Juliet remarks.

Benvolio, apparently quicker to wake up than her, remains unflappable.

"Just huddling together for warmth,” he explains with an easy grin, slowly entangling himself from her to sit up. His explanation draws their attention away from her just long enough for Rosaline to get her bearings as well, and by the time she follows him in struggling upright, she's almost managed it.

“We weren't sure if the fire would last through the night, so we decided to take precautions.”

“Very sensible,” Livia agrees, but she's looking at Rosaline with a decidedly suspicious expression. But when she turns to look at the fire, it really has burned down to just a small pile of ashes, confirming Rosaline's claim, and Livia's glare softens.

Which is good, because now that she's sitting upright, Rosaline's head is pounding as if someone took a sledgehammer to it and her mouth feels and tastes like something died in there. She'd prefer to keep this conversation to its bare essentials and then flee in search of some painkillers.

“Since you made it up here, does that mean the power lines will be repaired?”, she asks, and Mercutio nods when he joins them with Romeo, both of them sporting similarly confused expressions – but oddly, neither of them remarks upon the situation.

“They might be working on it already, the roads have been reopened since early this morning.”

Juliet, in a surprisingly practical turn, simply walks over to the lightswitch and flips it, and the room's lights go on.

“Looks like they already fixed it.”

That is wonderful news, Rosaline concedes despite her headache, especially since it should mean one thing:

“That means we have warm water again, right?”

Benvolio nods, looking rather tense despite the good news.

“We should.”

“Perfect.”

And with that, she simply walks away and upstairs. After spending an entire day and night in her sweatpants, she could really use a shower – not to mention, it's probably going to be the only place she'll be left alone for the rest of the day. And if there's anything she needs right now, it's to be left alone and get a chance to fully process what's been happening.

Because what's been happening is that she made out with Benvolio Montague. A _lot_. And while he sort of started it by saying he wanted to kiss her, she was the one who pretty much instigated everything else. She was the one who kissed him, pushed him on the sofa, and just generally... escalated the situation. Not that he seemed _opposed_ to it, thankfully...

Still. She can't believe she did all that. But then, it was after half a bottle of whiskey, and arguably during a stressful situation – that has to count for something, right?

Besides, she's a grown woman. If she wants to make out with a guy on a weekend getaway, and he wants the same thing, she very well can.

Really, the only worrisome thing about the whole affair is that she chose to make out with _this_ man in particular, a man she would have insisted on despising just two days ago. Before this trip, if she could have even imagined it, she would have counted almost sleeping with Benvolio Montague as the desperate act of a lunatic.

Now... well, now she thinks she shouldn't be quite so hard on herself. His behavior so far has shown her that he isn't nearly as bad as she previously thought, and their conversations were actually interesting. They might have things in common. He might be someone she might want to talk to again.

And also make out with again, her brain suggests, very unhelpfully, and Rosaline groans.

This is not the kind of relaxing experience she'd been hoping for from this trip.

* * *

When she gets back downstairs a too-long time later, Livia and Juliet are sitting at the dining table picking over the leftovers of a hearty breakfast, while Benvolio, Romeo and Mercutio are by the door, in full ski gear, putting on their boots.

"You heading out?", she asks as she heads over to the coffeemaker on the counter, glad to have something other than last night to focus on, not to mention someone other than Benvolio to look at. Has he been thinking about her too, wondering what the hell happened? Or is it just a regular occurrence for him to wake up next to a different woman every other night, and he isn't even thinking about it?

She really wishes she wouldn't want to know the answer so badly.

Mercutio answers her question with a nod.

"We didn't want to lose any more time. We've already missed out on a full day of skiing, and the weather's great today."

"We won't stay out too long though", Romeo assures them or, more likely, Juliet. "We'll be back in time for fondue."

"And it'll be the best damn fondue you've ever had," Juliet promises, and Rosaline makes a face. With those two, everything either sounds like a sappy declaration of love or like filthy innuendo, and somehow, that statement managed to sound like both.

"Well, have fun then", she adds, turning to her coffee with a strange sense of relief. For several hours now, she won't have to face the Montague and act like nothing out of the ordinary happened between them.

But just as she's finished that thought, Benvolio comes closer - only to grab a pair of gloves lying on the counter near her, but still his sudden approach makes her heart beat faster, which is just unbeliavably silly of her.

"I guess you'll be glad to be rid of me for a while," he jokes, voice lowered but unmistakably joking. He makes it sound like the thought amuses rather than bothers him, but there's a hint of something on his face, a trace of uncertainty that suggests he isn't sure his joke is all that far from the truth - and that he's nervous about being right. Somehow, the realisation makes her brave.

"You know, you're actually more tolerable than I expected."

She smiles to convey that she's teasing, and Benvolio looks surprised for a moment and then relieved as he smiles back, and Rosaline's stomach is definitely fluttering now. This was a statement, a signal that she isn't going to go back to the way they were before, and she hopes he interpreted it as such.

"Are you coming Ben? We've already lost enough time," Mercutio's impatient voice cuts in, and only when it reminds her with a start that there are other people here does Rosaline realise that she completely forgot about them for a moment.

Judging by the startled expression on Benvolio's face, so did he.

He grabs the gloves from the counter and rushes over to the others without another word to her - but when the three skiers head out and he closes the door behind them, Benvolio looks back and meets her eyes for one more brief moment, again with a little smile, before he shuts the door.

When she turns to walk back over to her sister and cousin, there's a matching smile on Rosaline's face that she quickly hides behind her coffee mug.

Still, Livia must have noticed something, because Rosaline has barely sat down before she's already being interrogated.

"So, you're really okay? It wasn't that terrible being snowed in?"

"It wasn't", Rosaline assures her. "We've had enough food and water, and the fire kept at least the living-room tolerably warm."

"Still, it must have been scary," Juliet chimes in.

"It was a little, when we first realised it. But Benvolio found a whole folder with instructions for this exact situation, so we figured it happens from time to time and is perfectly survivable."

"Oh, I'm happy to hear that. We were really worried about you guys, you know."

"I mean, mostly about the risk that you'd kill each other...", Livia adds, and Rosaline rolls her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. We weren't that bad."

"You used to refer to Benvolio as _"The Worst Montague"_ before all this."

"Yeah, well, maybe that was a little harsh. He really stepped up these past two days."

“Oh, it's wonderful that you're finally getting along!”, Juliet squeals, and Rosaline smiles a little forcedly. Just how bad _were_ things between Benvolio and her before?

But Livia is not done with the interrogation yet.

"So, what did you do the entire time?", she asks, and Juliet nods as if expecting to be told about some great adventure.

"Well, at first we were busy trying to figure out what was going on and what to do about it. We called the landlord, we told you guys not to try and come up, and we made sure the fire was going. And then we just.... chilled."

"Chilled.”

“I read a book, Benvolio explored the game room, that sort of thing.” She grins. “I destroyed him at Ping-pong,” she adds, still childishly proud of that little victory, and Juliet raises her hand for a high-five.

“And then you got absolutely wasted and woke up in bed together,” Livia continues her list, and Rosaline sobers up immediately.

“Well, technically, we woke up on the _sofa_. And we didn't get _wasted_. We ran out of things to do after dinner, so we had a few drinks.” She shrugs, scrambling to appear nonchalant. “It helped with the conversation. But come on, you guys – I've been seeing so little of you lately and we already lost an entire day. Are we really going to waste our time talking about the Montague?”

“Oh, so now it's back to _“The Montague”_ again.”

“Old habits, sorry.” She smiles apologetically, at Juliet in particular – looking back over the past months, it can't have been easy for her cousin trying to reconcile their two families when she was so adamant about not accepting one family member in particular. “I promise, we're going to be civil from now on. We've reached a truce.”

Juliet looks skeptical, so Rosaline nods earnestly.

“Really. We shook hands and everything. And we didn't kill each other. Still, I've spent the past 48 hours with him, and now I'd really like to focus my attention on you guys.”

It's an evasive tactic, sure, but there's still truth behind it – she really has been looking forward to getting some time alone with Livia and Juliet. And finally, the suggestion is taken up: They quickly clean away the rest of the breakfast, which Rosaline has been picking at throughout their conversation. Juliet prepares a batch of her famous boozy cocoa, and they move over to the sofa to settle in for a good long talk – one where Benvolio Montague won't be a subject anymore, Rosaline decides.

Unfortunately, she doesn't entirely manage to banish him from her _mind_ as well. He's cleared away the duvets, she still notices when they sit down, or at least someone has. And ever so often, even when the conversation has turned to something completely different, his face pops up in her mind, or the memory of his hands on her body; her hands on his; their lips meeting seamlessly and their bodies moving in sync-...

“Right, Rosie?”

“What? Sorry, I was...” Daydreaming about the very man she claimed to be tired of talking about, but she's not going to admit _that_. “I was just...” she looks around, and once more, her old friend the fire comes to her rescue and provides an excuse, “thinking that I should put a fresh log on the fire, if we want it to keep burning.”

“Well, you're the expert.”

“I've been here for exactly one day more than you have,” Rosaline corrects mildly. “So, what were you talking about?”

Livia recaps the work dilemma she's just been describing to Juliet, Rosaline offers her advice, and the conversation moves on without anyone questioning her about what exactly has her so distracted. She really needs to focus, Rosaline tells herself – no more thinking about the Montague.

She doesn't _quite_ manage to stick to that resolution, but she does a good enough job so that Livia and Juliet don't catch on and she can assure herself that she didn't suddenly become obsessed with Benvolio Montague just because he turned out to be a decent kisser. And nicer than she thought. And a lot more interesting. And capable of smiling in a way that seems almost specifically designed to cause that little flutter in her stomach...

Rosaline suppresses a groan and takes a deep swig of boozy cocoa instead. Whatever other talents the man might have, he's likely to drive her to the bottle before this trip is over.

And _that_ she _is_ allowed to be annoyed about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm having some trouble with the pacing on this story, so until I've figured this out, here's the next chapter. It's a little shorter, but at least it exists. It is hard to stay motivated these days.  
> Oh, and also, there will be more than the originally planned 3 chapters. (This is why I don't usually write chapter numbers from the start - I never manage to stick to them.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I've added another chapter. They just needed a little more time.  
> Also, I don't understand all the different types of lawyers in English-speaking countries, so Rosaline's job will just have to remain a little vague. She does lawyering with a lawyering firm.

The afternoon passes quietly and exactly how Rosaline had hoped to spend her trip, just hanging out with her girls. The only difference is that she didn't expect to have to spend so much energy – or _any_ energy, really – on trying not to think about kissing _Benvolio Montague_. Still, with great effort she manages to keep her thoughts to safe areas for most of the afternoon, and suddenly, the boozy cocoa is finished, the cookies they baked on a whim instead of making lunch are almost eaten, and “the boys”, as Juliet refers to them, are returning from their ski outing proclaiming that they're famished.

Luckily, this is what they brought the fondue for, which Benvolio swears is easy to prepare. He starts calling over instructions while he's still taking off his ski gear, and by the time he's finished, Rosaline has successfully melted the grated cheese and is carefully stirring in the dry white wine. The next steps sound more complicated, and she's glad to hand over her wooden spoon to Benvolio and step aside.

For a little while, they work quietly side by side, Benvolio gently stirring the pot while Rosaline prepares a salad, and she's painfully aware that it is _not_ a comfortable silence. She should probably say something, but the only thing she can think of is “Why did you say you wanted to kiss me?”, and it doesn't feel like quite the right moment to blurt _that_ out. Instead, she remains stubbornly silent and tries not to look over and notice how adorable he looks, with his cheeks ruddy from the cold and his hair sticking up in all directions because he didn't bother to fix it after taking off his ski mask.

She's still busy not noticing any of those things when Benvolio suddenly turns to her, holding up a spoonful of creamy fondue.

“Try this.”

She does, too startled to protest, and finds that it tastes delicious.

“It's perfect.” And it brought him closer than he was before, and closer than she's perhaps ready to deal with at the moment. “I'll set the table.”

With that, she positively flees the kitchen only to notice that the others have already taken care of setting the table, and when Benvolio walks over with the heavy fondue pot in hand to set it on the table, she's still standing around like an idiot. Ignoring the strange look he gives her, she quickly sits down, carefully choosing the chair farthest away from him at the table.

Dinner is a very different affair than it was the other night, positively raucous, but Rosaline doesn't chime in with the jokes and lively conversation, at least not the entire time. Instead, she uses the opportunity to observe the man formerly known to her as The Worst Montague and see if her newly improved opinion of him stands up to this scrutiny – all without getting distracted by any observations on his eyes or his cheeks or any other irrelevant things.

And she has to say: If his civil behavior and general likeability the past two days were all part of some kind of act, he's doing an impressive job of keeping it up.

Now that she isn't passing every minute she's forced to spend in his company either ignoring Benvolio or coming up with witty barbs to aim in his direction – not that he was ever shy about firing back – Rosaline has to admit she can sort of see why everyone but her seemed to immediately like him so much. He's an animated storyteller but not prone to hogging attention, and when it comes to jokes and teasing, he's generous but never cruel, and takes as many jabs as he delivers.

Perhaps this easy charm is what set her so against him in the first place, Rosaline wonders eventually, because while she _can_ be charming if necessary, she can't claim that it ever comes easy to her. _Likeable_ is a word people less biased than her might use to describe Benvolio Montague, as are _fun_ and _laid_ - _back_ , and none of those words are ever used to describe her. _Intense_ , yes, that has been applied to her, as well as _passionate_ and even _diligent_. And of course there's _competitive_ , the trait praised in her male colleagues while she gets told to tune it down a little. Yesterday, she did no such thing – but for the first time in a long time, she wasn't punished for it.

Benvolio didn't use the word against her, didn't pout about it for the rest of the evening or add a weird sexual overtone to it, as the only co-worker she ever made the mistake of going out with tried to do. Instead, he just accepted it, just like he seemed to accept everything else she dared to let him see of her, and she wonders if maybe that's what people mean when they gush about how nice and laid-back he is.

Or perhaps she's overanalysing and he's just able to be laid-back and easygoing because he has his uncle's fortune to fall back on should that attitude ever fail him – but judging by the things he let her learn about him last night, that's not as likely an option as she would have thought before.

Either way, she realises halfway through the dinner she's barely paid any attention to, it seems she'll have to admit to herself that seeing a new side of him the past two days has made her want to see more, learn more about him. And since they'll be spending two more days together, she might as well use the time to do that.

She takes the opportunity when conversation turns to their jobs and Mercutio prompts them all to share the funniest thing they've experienced at work. Rosaline recalls the craziest case she's ever worked on, in which neighbourly rivalry led to the disappearance of several thousand gallons of milk. Mercutio tells a rousing tale of the time a client's very specific wishes caused the police to be called on what was supposed to be a harmless guerilla marketing flashmob, Livia shares the most wildly inaccurate medical beliefs she's heard patients utter during her medical internship, and Benvolio's story about a particularly creative sixth-grader gains him not just laughs but a good deal of “awws” and other emotional exclamations.

“What a special kid,” Juliet explains, visibly moved. “I just hope the other kids didn't bully him after that.”

“Nah, he was fine. They were a nice bunch, that class, though I've had a few bullies over time.”

“So what do you do when that happens?”, Rosaline asks. She can't imagine dealing with a horde of teenagers when they're on their best behaviour, but middle school bullies? She'll take an accused criminal over that any day.

“Sometimes there isn't much I can do, as a teacher – intervening openly tends to put even more of a target on a student's back. I just try to pay attention, talk to them if a kid seems particularly quiet. I can try pairing them up with someone they might get along with, help them make some friends. If they show an interest in art, I try to nurture that. Sometimes just the experience of being good at something can help boost their self-esteem. And bullies tend to lose a lot of their power once their victims gain some confidence.”

“Is that what made you want to get into teaching, giving kids confidence?”

“Well, that, and I realised I'm not talented enough to make it as an artist.” He grins, shrugging to indicate he wasn't particularly bothered by that realisation, or at least it doesn't seem to bother him anymore. “I still paint in my spare time, and I've sold a few pieces, but I'll never get a gallery exhibit, and I've made my peace with that. Now I just try to get the kids excited about art. Who knows – one of my students might turn out to be the next Hopper or O'Keefe or Basquiat.” He sounds genuinely excited about the prospect, and Rosaline is so endeared by it that his next question catches her unawares for a moment. “What made you decide to go into law?”

Her usual answer to this question, the one reserved for first dates and dinner parties, is something along the lines of law being a fascinating field with lots of opportunities and chances for growth, but somehow, in this moment, that doesn't feel like the right answer. It's not a lie, really – it's just not the most important reason.

“I know it sounds terribly cheesy, but I want to help people get justice.”

“I don't think that's cheesy at all.” Benvolio could just be saying it to be polite, but his expression is so earnest that it makes her want to believe him. “And do you – help them?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I help them and then it turns out that maybe they didn't deserve it, or that what feels like justice to them may be terribly unjust to the other parties involved.” She shrugs. “Still, at the end of the day I hope I'm doing some good, in the grand scheme of things.”

She doesn't know why she's telling him all this, or why it feels like she's telling it to him specifically when there are four other people at the table. Maybe it has something to do with his eyes, the way they seem to be pinning her in place. Maybe it's that, at work, acting blasé and unconcerned to the point of jadedness is par for the course, because no one would take her seriously if she started spouting off her idealistic ideas about justice. Being open like this, allowing herself the weakness of having ideals, feels incredibly freeing.

Benvolio is still looking at her, holding her eyes when she lifts her head a little, ready for defiance if he chooses to make fun of her. There are plenty of jokes about lawyers for him to choose from, and Rosaline has probably heard them all.

But for once, Benvolio's comeback isn't a joke at all.

“I'm sure you are.”

His voice is warm and sure, and she thinks that if this is how he speaks to his students when they need encouragement, they probably walk away with the confidence of a superhero.

She smiles and he smiles back, and that flutter is back even though there's the entire length of the table between them, enough physical distance that she thought she'd be safe from that kind of reaction.

“Well, I just wanted to meet a bunch of famous people,” Mercutio pipes up from the side, breaking the moment – whether too soon or too late, she isn't sure herself. “Maybe even sleep with some of them.”

Rosaline turns her head to look at him, utterly confused.

“What, I thought we were sharing what motivates us. This is my answer. We can't all be noble like you two. Some of us just want to have fun. And get to call dibs on new products when they send out the PR packages.”

“You get products?”, Juliet asks immediately, and Mercutio nods.

“All kinds. Booze, gadgets, beauty products... anything, depending on the client And yes, I can hook you up with some of them.”

“Oh, would you?” Juliet squeals, well aware that she'd get whatever she wants without even asking. As Rosaline has learned since Juliet and her Montague boyfriend brought him into her life, Mercutio may be boisterous and full of bad ideas and possibly the most promiscuous person she's ever met, but he's nothing if not generous.

“Of course!”

The conversation moves on to which brands and celebrities Mercutio's PR firm represents and what kinds of glamorous events he's thrown for them, and Rosaline listens with detached fascination to his tales of this strange, glitzy world while throwing what she hopes are subtle looks in Benvolio's direction every once in a while to check if he really was looking at her with particular warmth earlier, or if that's just how he looks at people.

She doesn't manage to reach a conclusion on that question, because half the time when she looks over at him, Benvolio's eyes are on her already, and she has to quickly look away before he can catch on. Not to mention there are four other people at the table who she also doesn't want to catch on that something's going on here. Luckily, as the first two wine bottles are emptied, that seems less and less likely, and by the time all the cheese has been scraped out of the pan, no one seems to have noticed anything except perhaps for Livia, and she's the only one of the four who can be trusted not to blurt out anything embarrassing.

Since they did all the cooking, Rosaline and Benvolio are shooed away from the table and told to take a break, and Rosaline heads over to the sofa to do just that. Having sat here all day, she's surprised not to be sick of it yet - but it _is_ a very comfy sofa.

Benvolio seems to think so too, plopping down next to her, and she holds her breath in anticipation of some more awkward silence. But apparently, Benvolio seems determined not to let it come to that.

"So," he begins, resolutely, "we've made it through our little adventure."

"We certainly have." She smiles. "It turned out not to be as terrible as I would have expected."

"No?"

"There were some good parts.” Another smile, after a furtive glance around to make sure no one is watching. “Going offline for a bit was nice." She pauses, waiting if Benvolio wants to add anything, but so far, he's just looking at her. "All things considered, I haven't regretted anything yet."

His expression remains quizzical for a moment, and she wonders why that is – did he already forget about last night, or does he not realize that's what she's alluding to?

Just in case, she repeats it.

“I mean it – absolutely nothing. Not even...,” she breaks off, suddenly unsure if she's quite brave enough to do this, even if just a second ago she thought she was. But she's not going to find out without risking a little dent to her pride, and so Rosaline braces herself and takes the plunge. “Not even the stuff you thought I would regret.”

His eyes widen, and she knows he's finally understood.

“Really?”

She nods, and when his eyes light up in response, that flutter in her stomach is back again.

"So, does that mean...-” he begins, only to be interrupted at quite possibly the worst time.

“Hey, are you two going to pick a team or what?”

Rosaline has no idea what exactly she's picking a team for, but she points to where Livia and Mercutio have huddled together at one side of the big kitchen table. There's no way she's teaming up with Romeo and Juliet – they'll be too busy making eyes at each other to focus on whatever game they're about to play.

But before she can join her team, Benvolio holds her back by her arm.

"Nope, not happening. We'll be on the same team."

Perhaps noticing the others' baffled expressions, Benvolio explains:

"I've seen this woman play ping-pong. I'm not going up against her for any type of competitive game."

They're not playing ping-pong but some board game with excessively complicated rules and tasks ranging from trivia and logic puzzles to miming and drawing, and she has to admit that they do make an excellent team. Benvolio brings creativity and inventiveness to her competitive streak and Livia is of course wickedly smart, and by the end of the night, they've crushed the other team. Mercutio glares and Juliet pouts and Livia hugs them both, and suddenly Livia is gone but Benvolio is still there, beaming.

“I knew we'd be unbeatable,” he exclaims, and Rosaline can't help but beam back.

“We were pretty good, weren't we?”

“ _Pretty_ _good_? We absolutely _slaughtered_ them.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side. “I'm making sure you're on my team for every game night from now on.”

The perfectly friendly gesture makes that flutter inside her return again – but by now, Rosaline actually doesn't mind it all that much anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, no regrets... does that mean you'd be open to a repeat?”, Benvolio asks, boldly, when they meet in front of the coffee maker the next morning, alone in the kitchen while the rest of the house is only slowly stirring awake.

The question hits her a little unprepared, as she hasn't even finished pouring her coffee, and it doesn't help that it sounds like he's pretty close. _Promisingly_ close, a part of her brain suggests, so she guesses that part at least is wide awake already – the part that can still offer an exact mental replay of the other night the moment she gets even slighty distracted, and seems already well on its way to do just that.

She wrestles it back to the feral depths of her mind where it originated and slowly sets down her mug, careful not to spill the steaming coffee. 

Benvolio is indeed standing pretty close – but not, she notices, close enough to suggest that he expects to know her answer already. 

“Wow, you're not wasting any time.”

“I think I've wasted enough time already.” His expression is unexpectedly serious, and it makes her heart beat faster than it should in her pre-caffeine state. “So I figured I'd just ask.”

He makes it sound so simple that it apparently manages to override all of Rosaline's caution – and before she's even restarted her near-constant overthinking, she's replied:

“I think I am.”

His face lights up, although he seems to be trying to appear cool and casual, which is just ridiculously cute.

“Interesting,” he says, nodding a little and making a goofy, pensive expression. “And when do you think might be a good time for that?”

He's moved closer, which somehow surprises her even though she must have been aware of it on some level, and is propping one hand on the counter next to her, and Rosaline has barely noticed it before she's already swaying closer as well – apparently, this is something she knows how to do even before she's properly awake. She smiles and lets her head tilt back expectantly, wondering briefly if it's healthy to feel this lightheaded just because someone is standing close to her. _Very_ close, but still.

“ _Now works fine for me”,_ she wants to say, but before she can, there's a third voice intruding on their conversation, calling down from the top of the stairs.

“Rosie, is that you?”, her sister inquires, and from the sound of it, she's coming closer as she speaks.

“Not now, apparently,” Rosaline answers instead, smiling wrily as she pushes off from the counter she's been leaning against – away from Benvolio and the delicious possibility that was opening up before them just a moment ago.

“Some other time, then?”, he asks, hopeful, and she gives his arm a quick squeeze.

“Some other time,” she confirms, mentally adding: And hopefully soon.

But “some other time” never seems to come: For the rest of the day, neither of them is left alone for any extended time. Livia suggests a walk after breakfast which Rosaline welcomes after spending two days inside, and while Benvolio does join them, so does everyone else, and she has to constantly divide her attention between him and the others.

Still, she once again finds the time to observe him, trying to catch up on months she could have spent getting to know him in just one weekend. And she likes what she's observing, so many things about him she didn't see before because she didn't want to.

She only knew him as one of the infamous Montague clan, always causing trouble and never facing any consequences for it because no one wanted to go up against Damiano Montague. But Benvolio claimed to have been a mitigating influence during those adventures, and watching him interact with the others makes her more and more sure that that was a pretty truthful take. Contrasted with his cousin's impulsiveness and Mercutio's taste for mischief, Benvolio really is a calming influence: Gently taking too-grand ideas down a notch or two, pointing out risks and generally toeing the line between letting the others have their fun and making sure they do so safely – something she can observe most clearly when Romeo and Juliet suggest a snowball fight on the way back to the cabin.

“A _battle_!”, Romeo corrects excitedly, and while he pushes to be on a team with his girlfriend, Livia and Juliet insist on teaming up girls against boys. Rosaline rolls her eyes at the silliness but joins in anyway, persuaded the moment the first snowball whizzes past her and she looks over to find Benvolio smirking at her.

“You're not chickening out, are you, Capulet?”

Her response hits him square in the face, and then it is _on_.

It doesn't take long for the battle to escalate, with both teams chasing each other through the woods, locked in fierce battles through the snowy terrain until they've made it back to the cabin, where the driveway is prompty turned into an extension of their battlefied. The “boys” erect a sort of fort by the woodshed, while Rosaline, Livia and Juliet decide to stay mobile and try to get around them to attack from the back.

At this point, Rosaline is starting to tire out a little. She's already managed to get the drop on each member of the opposite team, and in her eyes, that means they've won. And since Livia and Juliet seem to have the situation well under control, she ducks for cover behind Mercutio's car to sit down and just breathe for a moment.

“I know what you're doing, you know,” someone says casually from the side, and she snaps her head around to spot Benvolio creeping around the edge of the car, ducked low to avoid being seen. She lifts the already-formed snowball in her hand, ready to defend herself if he attacks, but Benvolio lifts his hand to show he's unarmed, and plops down next to her.

Apparently, it's time for another cease-fire.

“Oh yeah?,” Rosaline asks, her best courtroom pokerface already in place. “And what is that?”

“You're working me out. You know, like one of your cases – gather information, weigh arguments, try to reach a verdict.”

She expected a non-subtle interrogation about her snowball-fight-tactics, so she's not exactly prepared for _this_.

“I'm not a judge, you know. It's not usually me who gets to cast the verdict.”

He rolls his eyes playfully.

“It's a metaphor, Capulet. And I just wanted to let you know, I'm willing to cooperate. Ask me anything.”

It sounds innocent enough, but Rosaline is sceptical by nature _and_ through professional conditioning.

"What about you? Aren't you doing the exact same thing?”

But he only shakes his head. “Nope. I'm already done.”

She knows it's a bad idea, that it will hand over control over this entire conversation to him in one fell swoop, and still Rosaline is about to ask what _his_ verdict is when Mercutio calls over.

“Ben, get your ass back to the fort – we're getting slaughtered here!”

Benvolio has the audacity to wink at her, then he jogs off to join the fray, and Rosaline is left to stare after him and wonder what the hell he meant.

Once the girls' team has delivered the final blow, they head inside to get out of their snow-soaked clothes, and Livia asks what she and Benvolio were talking about. Rosaline evasively answers “my job”, and the half-lie sends a little thrill through her. She remembers Juliet telling her about the rush of secretly dating Romeo, sneaking around and trying not to get found out for the first few weeks of their relationship, and though things are hardly the same here, she thinks she's starting to understand the appeal. There's something to be said for this secretive little flirtation they've got going on now – furtive looks when they think no one is watching, brushing past each other a little too closely or holding on too long when they're handing something to each other, all while gradually continuing the conversation they started the other night after the fondue.

And Rosaline still has quite a few questions concerning that subject.

The next time she finds herself standing next to him while everyone else is clambering into the hot tub, she gathers up her courage and asks, trying very hard to sound casual. (Not to mention, speak quietly enough that no one else overhears them.)

“So, about the other night... you enjoyed yourself, right?”

“I thought _that_ was obvious.”

“So why were you so eager to go to sleep? We could have just kept... making out for a bit longer, without...”

“Having sex?”, Benvolio suggets bluntly, and Rosaline feels her cheeks heat up even more. She forces herself to hold his gaze.

“Yes. I mean, there _is_ a middle ground.”

He pauses for a moment, studying her, before he replies:

“Honestly? I wanted to go to bed so the time would pass quicker until you were sober and I could ask if you wanted to make out again. With no risk of regrets.”

The pause after his words gives her _almost_ – but not quite – enough time to let the words really sink in.

“And also, I didn't trust myself to stick to my resolve.” He shrugs, grinning disarmingly. “You probably already know this, Capulet, but you're really hot.”

And with that, and a cheeky grin, he heads off to the tub, leaving her behind (again!) to stare after him and trying to fully process his words.

She _really_ needs to get the upper hand back – and luckily, she gets a chance to tip the scales back a little later that day.

The second someone suggests eating dinner, everyone immediately disperses, and it looks like the task will fall to Benvolio again (which is probably for the best, but still, Rosaline finds it a little unfair to just dump the work on him). So she steps up to help, preparing a salad while he cooks, and using the moment to share some of the observations she's made throughout the day.

"You know what I've realised?”, she starts conversationally, not waiting for his reply to her opening question. “You're the Mom friend."

Now he looks confused (adorably confused, her brain supplies), so she elaborates.

"You know, the one who makes sure everyone stays out of trouble and has enough to eat and, like, packs a sweater."

Benvolio grins.

"Should that make me feel emasculated?"

"No, why would it? It just means you look out for others." She pauses to gather her courage. "It's sweet."

“ _Sweet_ , huh?”

“It's a compliment, Montague.”

“I know. I'm just not sure it's what I want you to think about me.” He doesn't elaborate, but the glint in his eyes speaks volumes anyway.

But he's not the only one who can flirt.

“Who says it's the _only_ thing I think about you?”

She takes a quick look around to make sure none of the others are nearby, then she steps up behind him, her hand on the small of his back as she stretches up and pretends to look over his shoulder at the meat sizzling in the pan. “Mmm, that looks delicious.” Then, feeling almost reckless, she leans in even closer, her chin nuzzling the curve above his clavicle. Her lips are almost brushing the side of his neck and she can tell by his little shiver that he's registered that fact. “I can't wait to try it,” she finishes, voice extra-husky, before she steps back again with a smug smirk. 

“You shouldn't do stuff like that to a man when he's handling fire. I hope you know that.” Benvolio is clearly trying to sound stern, but she gets the impression that he didn't _really_ mind her little interruption.

“I'm sure you can handle it,” she replies breezily before she picks up a pile of plates and waltzes over to the dining area, wiping the silly grin off her face just in time before the others arrive from the game room.

“Ah, food!”, Romeo proclaims, heading to the kitchen to peer curiously into Benvolio's pots and pans.

Benvolio moves him out of the way and finishes his task while Rosaline drafts the others into setting the table, and soon, they're all tasting their first bites with many exclamations of thanks and appreciation towards Benvolio, who looks bashfully happy at the praise.

“Don't thank just me. Rosaline helped.”

“Yeah, but Rosaline can't cook for shit, so it must be you who made it taste this _good_ ,” Livia interjects, and Rosaline wonders if maybe it's time for a little talk about respecting one's elders.

“He is a great cook, our Bennie – wouldn't you agree, Rosaline?” Mercutio's voice is all innocence, but his piercing gaze is anything but.

Rosaline smiles politely – she knows this is a trap, she just isn't sure _how_. Is Mercutio trying to trick her into being mean to Benvolio again after they've been very ostentatiously nice to each other? Well, he won't catch her stumbling there.

“He really is.”

“A great quality in a man, I'd say,” Mercutio continues, again with that tone of voice Rosaline doesn't trust entirely.

Luckily, her little cousin jumps in before she can find out where Mercutio was headed with this.

“Or a woman,” Juliet adds. “Women are just _expected_ to know how to cook, while men are praised for it.”

Rosaline can't help but smile – she prides herself on being the one to introduce her little sister and cousin to all things feminism, and she's proud to see how much they've learned about it since then. And passed on, apparently:

“That's true,” Romeo agrees. “And it's not fair.”

“Well, for fairness' sake then, let's agree that Benvolio is a great cook, Rosaline is a great person for helping, and both of them are a great catch,” Mercutio sums up, and Rosaline resists the urge to roll her eyes at him.

“That seems fair, yes.”

But Juliet's interjection has set the conversation on a course, and soon they're heatedly discussing sexism and gender stereotypes and the wage gap, and Rosaline lets herself get swept up in it, always ready for a good argument. Not that she has that much to argue – everyone at the table is mostly on the same page as she is, which she's grateful for. There are no stakes in this fight, and she can relax and just enjoy the back-and-forth.

Besides, she's glad to have something to take her mind off Benvolio, because throughout the day, there's been a subtle change in the way she's approaching her observations that she's only become aware of just now, with Mercutio's not-that-subtle compliment at Benvolio's cooking. Yesterday, she only wanted to gauge just how embarrassed she should be about jumping him. When it turned out that she doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about at all, that realisation planted the seed of wanting to do it again – a seed that Benvolio has been carefully nurturing all day. And gradually, as she observed him, her thoughts started to shift: Away from thoughts of simply repeating the other night – and ideally, continuing where Benvolio stopped them – to the question if there might be even more to want here.

If, as she's found out, he isn't actually as terrible as she thought, is actually quite fun to be with and easy to talk to, and they're both attracted to each other... well, then it shouldn't be _that_ hard to figure out where that might lead.

Right?

* * *

Later, after they've finished yet another delicious dinner, Rosaline is about to suggest another round of games – perhaps a few quick rounds of Ping-pong – when Romeo pre-empts her with a suggestion of his own.

“Hey, it's a beautiful night. We should go outside and do some stargazing.”

The suggestion is unexpected, if not entirely out of character for Romeo, but what confuses Rosaline a little is when Mercutio immediately backs it up. Things get even stranger when she looks around to see Benvolio already in his jacket, cheeks flushed as if he was just returning from outside instead of heading out with the rest of them. He catches Romeo's eyes and nods subtly, and that's when Rosaline understands what's going on.

She nearly forgot about it over the mind-boggling events of this trip, but now Rosaline finally remembers what Benvolio told her on the way here: Romeo was intending to propose to Juliet. Apparently, this proposal is going to take place right now, out under the stars.

It's not a bad choice of setting, although the crabby 90-year-old lady that apparently lives inside her head wonders if it's _really_ necessary to drag everyone outside in near-freezing temperatures for this. But when she actually steps outside, that grumpy voice is promptly shut up.

The deck is lit by dozens and dozens of candles – some in lanterns and mason jars, some clustered on trays on the table and some simply stuck into the snow at the edge of the wooden deck. They're simple, white candles, but the effect of so many of them lit at the same time and encasing everything around in a warm glow is absolutely stunning.

Rosaline purposefully hangs back a little, knowing that it's Juliet who's supposed to step into the center of the light, and finds herself standing next to Benvolio, whose satisfied smile makes her more certain than anything else that she's interpreted the situation correctly.

“Did you set this up?”

Benvolio looks surprised at the question, and she explains:

“I caught you sneaking in earlier.”

“And here I thought I was subtle. The idea was Romeo's, I just added the finishing touches. Which means I was the one who actually _lit_ every single one of those damned candles. My hands are still frozen stiff.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Rosaline smiles cheekily and there's a mischievous curl to Benvolio's answering smile that tells her his reply is going to be something she really hopes no one else will be able to hear.

But before she finds out what that reply is going to be, Romeo takes Juliet's hand to pull her to the middle of the patio.

“Juliet,” he begins, a little breathlessly. “From the moment I first met you, I knew you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And I know that sounds cheesy, and I know we haven't been together all that long, and plenty of people would call me crazy for doing this. But I also know that you won't. And that's why it feels so right to do this...”

He takes a deep breath and goes down on one knee, still holding on to Juliet's hand, and Rosaline can't believe how confident he seems – if she was in his position, she'd probably be crippled by fear.

“Juliet Capulet, will you marry me?”

Livia's fingers are practically clawing into Rosaline's arm, but she needn't have worried – their cousin's reply follows almost immediately.

“Yes!,” Juliet shrieks and throws her arms around his neck before Romeo can even present the ring he supposedly brought along, and Rosaline can't for the life of her remember why she was so alarmed when Benvolio told her about Romeo's plan to propose. The two people before her are perfect for each other, and no amount of waiting could have made them more sure of this fact.

“Aah,” Benvolio sighs beside her, “young love!”

“What a drug, huh?”, Rosaline replies, because she's distracted trying to discretely wipe a tear from the corner of her eye before he can see her actually crying over this, and her reply ends up sounding perhaps a little more cynical than she meant it to – for once, she's not feeling inclined to cynicism at all.

“You're _really_ not a romantic, are you?” Benvolio sounds amused, and any other day, Rosaline would have wholeheartedly agreed. But right now, watching how happy Juliet and Romeo are, she suddenly wishes she was. Would it really hurt that much to view the world through rose-tinted glasses once in a while?

“I just haven't had much luck with love. That doesn't mean I can't be happy for others when they do.”

He doesn't reply immediately, so she turns her head a little – only to find him looking at her with a pensive expression.

“That's good.”

“What about you? You told me you got your heart broken. Didn't that put you off romance?”

“For a little while maybe, but I'm still holding out hope. You might call that stupid, I call it being an optimist.” 

It's the perfect setup to tease him, almost an invitation, but Rosaline is still feeling too soft and weepy from the evening's excitement to come up with a snappy reply. 

“I don't think it's stupid,” she says instead, and Benvolio's eyes widen. 

But before she can hear his reply, Juliet and Romeo have finally detached from each other, and Livia is rushing over to congratulate them. Rosaline follows suit to do the same, not wanting Juliet to think she's not happy for her. 

Still, Juliet must be thinking something along those lines, because when Livia is done hugging her fiercely and lets her go so Rosaline can do the same, her cousin looks a little nervous. 

“You don't think it's silly, getting engaged so soon?” 

Rosaline forces herself to smile even though the words make her wonder: Is she really so critical that even her loved ones expect her to go off at any moment – even a moment like _this_? 

“I think you seem very happy, and that's all that matters.” 

Juliet looks a little surprised for a moment, then she throws her arms around her with a happy little shriek, and Rosaline hugs her back with nearly as much enthusiasm. 

“I'm so glad you approve!”, she beams when she draws back. “You're the most sensible person I know. If you think this is a good idea, it has to be.”

“It doesn't matter what I think, Jules.” And thank God, she thinks: She may have made some pretty good choices in her professional life – but her love life is a whole other matter. She's certainly never managed to have anyone as devoted to her as Romeo seems to be to his now-fiancée. 

The loud _pop!_ of a champagne bottle disrupts that line of thinking just then, and Rosaline happily lets herself be distracted. What's the point of looking back at her own romantic failures? Tonight is not about her, and it's certainly not about looking back. 

* * *

Between emptying two bottles of champagne, congratulating the beaming couple and then trying to outdo each other with ever crazier ideas for their wedding, the last evening of their trip is a long and happy one – and the last morning starts quietly, and later than they had initially planned.

Luckily, they don't have to leave the house until the early afternoon, so they can afford to have a leisurely breakfast and still have enough time to pack and do a quick sweep of the house. Despite last night's lingering happy buzz, Rosaline feels a little sad to leave behind this place, where she spent four wonderful days, despite the trip's rocky start. But, Rosaline decides, she's not going to let that get her down. She'll simply make sure to get her tasks done as quickly as possible, and then she'll still have some time left over to sit out on the porch and enjoy the view one last time.

Sticking to that plan, she's finished with everything a little over half an hour later, and she grabs a coffee and her jacket and heads outside – only to find that someone else had the same idea.

Benvolio is leaning on the porch railing, a mug next to him, and looking out over the valley below. Briefly, Rosaline wonders if it would be intrusive to join him – maybe he'd like a moment to himself?

But when Benvolio turns and sees her, his face lights up with a smile, and Rosaline's doubts are erased.

“Last day,” she comments, wincing internally at the less-than-wittty conversation starter.

“I can't believe it's already over. How did the time pass so quickly?”

Rosaline shrugs. “Beats me.”

Yup. Her conversation skills are still missing in action, and she wonders what on earth has her so tongue-tied around him now. Although, if she had to venture a guess, the fact that it's their last day is exactly what's tripping her up – because it opens up one big question: What now?

Luckily, Benvolio seems willing to carry the conversation on his own for a little longer.

“Have you wrapped up the investigation yet?”

Rosaline raises her eyebrows.

“So now I'm a cop? Really, Montague, you need to watch your metaphors.”

“Hey, my strength is art, not literature.”

“And apparently, being impatient.”

“Naturally,” he jokes back, but there's a hint of nervousness in his voice, and he quickly turns serious. “It's just... well, the trip is almost over, and I was wondering if you want to take a _what happens in Vegas_ kind of approach to what happened between us or if “some other time” could mean sometime past this weekend.”

“Is that what you'd like?” It's a cowardly response, she knows, but it doesn't seem to deter him.

“Yes,” he answers simply, and Rosaline is taken aback. How brave to just answer such a question like that – no hesitation, no conditions. It's admirable, but more importantly, the fact that this courage is for her makes the flutter return, together with a warmth of affection she didn't think she could develop for someone in such a short span of time.

“Me too,” she adds, and it only feels scary for a moment. Then his face lights up, her own lips curve into a smile in return, and things finally seem to fall into place: She doesn't know where this entire adventure will take them – but she knows she would like for it to take them _somewhere_.

“Really?”, Benvolio asks, which in Rosaline's opinion is kind of superfluous but nonetheless cute.

“Yeah.” She grins as something occurs to her. “We might as well make the most of it while our truce is still holding, right?”

“Right,” he replies with a soft laugh, and Rosaline laughs as well and feels very light suddenly. The wonderfully long weekend may be almost over, with Monday already looming in the distance, but she might just have something good to look forward to as well.

“Oh yes, very funny,” comes a peeved voice from the side, and Rosaline turns her head to spot Juliet wrestling with a gigantic suitcase. “Please, feel free to stand there and laugh instead of, you know, helping me.”

Rosaline only shrugs, used to her cousin's little tantrums by now.

“You were the one who decided to pack for a month-long trip around the world. I don't see what that has to do with me.”

Sadly, the intended teaching effect of leaving Juliet to deal with the consequences of her overpacking is lost when Benvolio heads over to take the suitcase off her cousin's hands.

“I'll help.”

Juliet throws a reproachful look in Rosaline's direction, but she's barely hiding her satisfaction at getting her way once again.

“See, Rosie? This is what a _nice_ person does when they're asked for help.”

“Well, you just be glad you found one of those.” With a beatific smile, she takes a long draft of her coffee, watching as Benvolio heaves the suitcase into Mercutio's car under Juliet's admonitions to be careful.

The others emerge from the cabin soon after, with lighter suitcases, and soon the cars are packed, and Rosaline's light, practical wheelie suitcase is the last one left to be stowed away. The only question now is: which car will she be driving in?

Before this trip, her response would have been obvious: She'd rather squeeze in with four other people than spend any more time than necessary with the Montague. But now, he's not just “The Montague” anymore, and that changes things.

And before she has to say anything on the subject, Benvolio takes it off her hands.

“I can take Rosaline home again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I live closest and I already know the way. It'll save you the detour.”

“Works for me,” Rosaline says casually, and then quickly bends down to inspect the zippers on her suitcase before anyone can see her little smile. She has a feeling it's going to be a much more pleasant trip down the mountain than it was coming up here – and who knows, she might be polite and invite her driver up for a thank you-drink at her place later.

With that question settled, there's a round of hugs and goodbyes and promises to repeat the outing as soon as possible, and then the others all pile into Mercutio's car and drive off, and Rosaline watches them disappear around a bend in the driveway.

“I can't believe I'm saying this but... thank God they're finally gone.”

“Oh, you're happy about that?”, Rosaline smiles, and as expected, Benvolio smiles back and turns towards her.

“Very.”

When she mirrors his half-turn to face him, expectant warmth flares up inside her. But instead of closing the remaining distance between them to finally continue where they left off three days ago, Benvolio stays in place and grins at her.

“Wanna get back inside and fire up the hot tub again?”

Rosaline laughs and considers it for a moment. The thought is certainly tempting, but if they delay the trip down the mountain for too long, they'll have to make it in the dark. She doesn't want him to have to take that risk.

“I hate to be a spoilsport, but we need to get down into the valley before it gets too dark.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but you're definitely being a spoilsport right now.”

“I just don't want you to have to drive in the dark. And what if it starts snowing again? That's...”

...dangerous, she wants to say, but doesn't get around to it: Before she can finish the sentence, Benvolio is kissing her.

It's exactly as good as it was the first time, or maybe even better because this time she'll remember all of it – not to mention that she's been looking forward to this for a full two days, and the anticipation still doesn't hold up to the real thing.

She slings her arms around his neck and melts into the kiss with a little sigh, and she should perhaps feel a little embarrassed at her eagerness but somehow, she doesn't. Benvolio certainly seems just as enthusiastic as her, his hands locking at the small of her back to pull her closer, and it's a thrill to know he's been waiting for this just as much as she has.

But to her surprise, when she pulls away she finds Benvolio looking at her with a pensive expression.

“What is it?” For a moment, the flutter of excitement in her stomach threatens to turn into one of fear. Did he not like it after all? Did their second kiss perhaps not live up to the hazy memory of their first?

But then he answers, and the flash of uncertainty disappears again.

"I was just thinking: Of all the things I expected to happen during this trip, this was not one of them. I thought that, at best, I'd get some quiet time away with my boys, and at worst, pass out drunk in the hot tub. Somehow, this trip has surpassed my expectations on both the good and the bad."

She has to laugh at his vivid description, but there's a a flutter inside her that suggests it isn't just his humor that's suddenly making her feel so light.

"And just to be clear, this is the good part."

Rosaline smiles, but he's not done teasing her yet.

"The bad part was when you started talking about shovelling snow off the roof."

"Oh, shut up!" She cuffs his shoulder, her anger clearly overplayed, and Benvolio grins delightedly and leans closer again.

"Make me."

And she knows exactly how to do that.

It takes some time before they finally drive off after that, and a part of her wishes she'd taken Benvolio up on his earlier suggestion of staying a little longer. But even if her apartment isn't quite as romantic – or as luxurious – as the cabin, Rosaline is sure it will do just fine as the setting for the continuation of their “little adventure” as Benvolio called it, minus the snow.

In fact, judging by the heat building inside her when Benvolio casually lays his hand on her knee a little later, she's fairly sure she'll enjoy that part no matter the setting.

* * *

Much later, when they've made it to her place and Benvolio has not only taken her up on that thank-you-drink but also decided that it's too late now to keep on driving to his own apartment one town over, Rosaline is snuggled in bed next to him, warm and sated, with his arm draped over her waist and his breath slow and even at her back. She's just about to drift off to sleep herself when her phone lights up on the nightstand.

She grabs it to find two new messages in her group chat with Livia and Juliet:

“ _btw, we totally know that something's going on with you and Benvolio,_ ” declares Livia's message, and Rosaline is surprised not to see it followed by an indignant reproach that she hasn't fully informed them of the situation yet.

“ _And as soon as he's done driving you home-”_ , Juliet's message is followed by a winky-face emoji and an assortment of lewd fruits to make sure she gets the innuendo, _“we want to hear all about it!!!”_

Rosaline switches off her phone again and settles back into bed with a smile. She'll have to tell them eventually, she knows, because now that they've caught on, there's no way they will drop this.

But that can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this time, I really am finished with this story. On to new Rosvolio adventures!


End file.
